


My Dear Boy

by IBK



Category: Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Baby Arthur Morgan, Daddy Dutch, Grandpa Hosea, I changed the age completely, Micah is the worst brother, Total RDR trash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBK/pseuds/IBK
Summary: I recently fallen into the Red Dead Redemption 2 fandom and I'm complete trash, so I apologize.But be prepared for some fluff in the future and if you're looking for some Daddy Dutch being fatherly for Arthur you've found the right trash bin.Enjoy.





	1. Who Are You?

1868

The dust flew high on the old dirt road, as two dusty bandits raced their loyal horses with purpose. The one taking lead with his majestic white horse was, Dutch van der linde, a man so charming he could talk a Nun out of her gown. And following close behind was Hosea Matthews, the voice of reason when it came to Dutch's "plans".

"So, tell me about this ranch Hosea!" Dutch shouted over the pounding of their horses hooves. "How much money can a rancher have?"

"This is the Morgan ranch. The husband is a useless drunk, but the wife; the wife is where the money is."

"Meaning?" 

"Her Father is a traveler and sends her precious jewelry from all over the world."

"Ooh, a daddies girl."

Hosea let out a chuckle, "Barely. What father leaves their daughter with an aggressive drunk?"

"Now, don't you get attached Hosea!"

"I'm not, you bastard!"

That brought silence into the riding duo, as they continued to ride down the trail which seemed to stretch for miles. A vicious grin appeared over Dutch's mouth , as he imagined how simple this robbery would be. With the bad luck they had in the past this was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, finally a easy grab in and out with no witnesses. 

As time went on with the only sound being the panting of their horses the two men were greeted by a rickety old fence that used to be white, but most of the paint had peeled away leaving a dull brown colour. Following the fence lead the two gentlemen to a opening where they spotted the Morgan home and ranch.

Sadly, that place had seen better days. Shingles missing, peeling paint and overgrown weeds, this once proud home was now a pitiful shack. Stopping their tired horses, Dutch turned to Hosea and gave him a glare.

"Are you kidding me, Hosea!"

"Oh, don't be like that! Remember what's inside, Dutch!"

Rolling his eyes, Dutch sighed, "Alright, mask up let's get this over with."

Both men rolled up their bandanas to their noses and covered their faces, as they hitched their horses. Hoping down, Dutch adjusted his pistol in its holster and dug his boot in the dirt.

"Any farmhands?" Dutch asked, as they made their way towards the home.

Hosea chuckled, "No one would be dumb enough to work for the bastard. We'll be fine."

"Alright, Hosea you take the back make sure no one runs off and I'll take the front."

Without saying a word, Hosea took out his rifle and darts for the back door while Dutch took to the porch. Hurrying up the creaky wooden steps, Dutch crotched down and tip toed to the closest window.

Peeking in the filth covered window a disturbing sight caught his eye. Blood. Fresh blood splattered across the window glass. Cocking his pistol, he looked around spotting knocked over furniture, shattered bottles and a dining room table broken in half. An annoyed growl escaped Dutch's masked mouth.

"Dammit, Hosea. Damn place has already been picked."

Suddenly, a dark figure made him jump, but when they stepped in the light, Dutch was tempted to shoot'em. Damn Hosea was sneaking around and nearly gave Dutch a heart attack. Taking that Hosea was already inside and hadn't fired a single shot, Dutch deemed it safe and took it upon himself to enter the home. 

The door had an eerie creak to it, as Dutch opened it, and let the morning light spill into the home. Wasting no time, the duo started ransacking and grabbing whatever they could.

"How odd," Hosea mumbled, as he stuffed bottles of whiskey into his satchel. "This place was taken to Hell, but everything is still here."

Dutch only let out a "Hmm" as he helped himself to the tobacco and opened gin. As they filled their snatchels, Dutch looked out the window at the barn out back and noticed the barn door was opened slightly which it wasn't before.

Dutch ducked down while keeping the door in view, and grabbed at Hosea's arm.

"Get down," Dutch said in a hushed tone, Hosea kneeled down almost in a panic.

"What, what...what is it?"

"Someone's hiding in the barn."

"Did ya see 'em?"

"No...but that door wasn't open when we got here."

Sighing in relief, Hosea smacked Dutch's arm and stood up, "You can't be doing that, Van der linde."

Keeping an eye on that barn door it gave Dutch an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "I'm gonna check it out," His tone came out very deep and timid, as he stood up straight and let his gun lead the way. "Keep an eye out for me, Hosea."

Not waiting for an answer, Dutch darted out the door and sneaked towards the barn keeping his head down. His spurs clicked on the ground, as he approached the barn. The wind began to pick up and played with the door making swing back and forth till Dutch reached out and stopped it from crashing into the barn wall.

Taking it low and slow, Dutch entered the barn and started searching. Bails of hay, a startled raven black horse, and piles of shit, but nothing suspicious. Besides the whining horse, the barn was quiet and still, as he looked around. 

"Listen up whoever's in here!" Dutch barked holding his pistol in one hand and fixing his mask with the other. "I don't want to kill any of you, but trust me, I will!"

Surprisingly, not a word was spoken and no one stepped forward. With five minutes of pure silence, Dutch let out nasal sigh, as he slowly approached the jumping horse. Putting his gun away in his holster, Dutch put his hands out to calm the horse.

"It's alright, it's alright...Shhh, you're okay." 

The horse grunted, as Dutch approached. From Dutch's view the horse didn't look too startled more annoyed and bothered. As he got close enough, Dutch gave the horse a friendly pat.

"Good boy...good boy."

A heavy snort left the horse and it shifted side to side, as Dutch continued to pet 'em. Slowly Dutch grabbed the horse's rope and began leading the animal. The horse moved slowly, but calmly followed Dutch, as he brought the horse out of his stable. Upon leaving the stable a spec of tumbling white caught itself in the corner of Dutch's eye making him stop. 

Giving the horse a gentle pat, Dutch approached the object with little hesitation. As he entered the stable again it became clear that the white object was a child's toy. A white plush horse, but what disturbed Dutch is that the horse made a generous amount of blood splattered on it. Dutch could feel his heart sink into his stomach, as he imagined the terror of that child's last moments at the hands of whoever got there first. 

Kneeling down to pick up the toy, Dutch's ear was greeted by a terror filled whimper. Turning to his left Dutch's mouth fell open when he made contact with the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

A child.

A boy no more than five with the lightest brown hair and tattered clothes. The poor thing was frighten and had small patches of blood splattered across his face. His lip was stuck out in a pout, as tears fell from his eyes.

Dutch almost didn't know what to say, this made their situation so much worse. The boy eyed the horse in Dutch's hand and when it clicked into his brain what the child was looking out, Dutch smiled.

"Is this yours?"

The child gasped and turned away from Dutch and let out a cry which shattered his heart. It was clear that the boy had witnessed something horrible and was going to be scarred, so Dutch backed up and found a clean spot to sit down.

"It's okay, I won't hurt you," Dutch cooed, with a voice as light and soft as a feather. "You're safe now. What's your name, son?"

The boy had himself trapped in a corner with a stranger and by the sounds of his cries, he didn't like Dutch too much. 

Yet, Dutch kept his voice calm and sweet and held out the toy, "Is this horse yours?"

With puffy red eyes, the boy sniffled, looked at Dutch and slowly nodded.

"He's a very nice horse. He looks just like mine, but my horse is called The Count. What's your horse's name?"

The boy didn't answer, as he used his semi clean sleeve to wipe his dripping nose. Dutch tilted his head slightly, as he smiled. He was so tiny about the same height as a golden retriever sitting down, but those eyes, Dutch was caught in a trance. 

"Dutch! Dutch!"

Hosea's loud voice pulled Dutch out of his trance, as he bursted through the barn doors and stormed in.

"Dutch! It wasn't bandits," Hosea entered the stable, but didn't see the shivering boy. "But, I found the girl in the kitchen and it's a mess. A bullet in her stomach, throat sliced to pieces and-" Dutch silently pointed towards the boy, and as Hosea followed the finger he stopped. "What are point- Oh- oh my, uhhh....Oh dear."

Dutch brought his hand to his face and shook his head. Hosea kneeled down slowly with a grunt, as he smiled at the boy.

"Hello son, did my friend here scare you?"

The boy nodded.

"I'm sorry, but my name is Hosea what's yours?"

Not answering, the boy pointed at Dutch who still held the horse in his hand.

"Dutch...I believe you have something that doesn't belong to you."

Dutch looked at Hosea with a confused expression before realizing what he meant and held out the toy again. The boy looked at the toy than at Dutch with a worried look in his eyes, but slowly inched himself closer with his hand held out. 

Dutch almost forgot to breathe, as the boy grabbed his toy and flew back into his hay filled corner. With a smile Dutch turned to Hosea and whispered, "What were you saying about bandits?"

"No bandits...the husband...he killed her...then killed himself in the bedroom."

"The coward."

The two men sat in silence, as the soft whimpering of the now orphaned child made the only sound. Dutch looked the boy up and down and noticed the boy wasn't wearing any shoes. The poor boys feet were all dirty and covered in small cuts. 

A rage filled Dutch's heart as he stood up and marched out of the barn with a purpose. Hosea called after him, but he was far too mad to listen. He kicked the house door open and had his gun out of his holster in a matter of seconds, as he discovered the lifeless body of a beautiful young women with the same coloured hair as the boy faced down on the kitchen floor.

Flies had already helped themselves to the women's corpse and from the colour of the girl's blood she had only been dead for a few hours. She was in her once white sleeping gown which was now stained with his blood and covered in numerous bruises and cuts. Dutch shook his head and growled again, but went quiet when he heard a groan come from what he believed to be the parents bedroom.

Not hesitating, Dutch nearly sprinted, as he used his black cowboy boot to kick the door open. Laying there on the bed with a bullet sized wound in his head was the husband groaning and whimpering in his own pool of blood.

"You sick bastard," Dutch barked, as his gun shook in his clutches. "How in the hell are you still alive?"

"Beatrice?" The man moaned, as he slowly opened his eyes. "Where are..you...I can't see you."

The bullet clearly messed up the man's eyes, as one looked at Dutch the other was glued on looking at the ceiling above them. 

"What kind of monster are you?" Dutch's spat, as he circled the bed like a caged animal pounding in dirty boots onto the floor. "Not only did you murder your wife...you did it in front of your son, you're a sick bastard. 

The man's body stayed perfectly still, but his head flopped around like a fish outta the creek. He went to speak, but was interrupted by a mouth full of his own blood.

Dutch marched over to the man's side and the look of fear in his eye almost made Dutch smile.

"What's the boy's name?" Dutch asked with a hiss, as he pointed his pistol and the man's broken skull.

"My...boy...A...Arthur...Arthur is my boy."

"Go to Hell you bastard."


	2. Little Orphan Boy

Wiping the specs of blood and brain matter from his clean shaven face, Dutch returned his smoking gun to his holster and brought himself to the kitchen where Beatrice laid cold and alone. Dutch looked down at her with his hands around his belt, as he pondered on his next move. 

As he gazed upon her lifeless corpse a sense of horrible dread fell upon him. The fear the poor girl must have went through in her final moments while her young son watched in horror unable to do anything. He felt like he needed to speak.

With a sigh, Dutch removed his hat and bowed his head, "Ma'me, my name is Dutch van der linde and I'm not a very nice man. I've killed people, robbed them blind, and done every sin in the book, but...what that disgusting coward did to you sends a shiver down my spine. I know I can't take away what he has done to you, miss ,but I'll make sure you're taken care of your son. I promise."

Placing his hat back on his head, Dutch spotted a brown tablecloth dangling off the edge of the once standing dinner table, and got an idea. Yanking the cloth towards him, Dutch laid it beside Beatrice and gulped loudly.

"Forgive me, miss, but I can't leave you here. A fine lady like you should be buried with respect." 

Carefully, Dutch grabbed her left shoulder and rolled her over onto her back. His heart sank. Her face was frozen in a mortified expression: her eyes were a faded shaded of blue, yet they were wide open. Blood trickled from her bruised lips and nose, she had been punch multiple times. And from what was left of her throat, Dutch was surprised her head was still attached to her body, but the torture didn't end there. Multiple stab wounds were placed around her stomach and lower abdomen like the night sky filled with stars.

Gently picking her up, Dutch wrapped Beatrice up in the dining room cloth making sure to cover her completely. Blood seeped through the cloth, as Dutch tied his lasso around her to keep the cloth in place. Unaware, Dutch's pant legs knelt in a pool of blood and stained his clothes along with his once white dress shirt. 

Normally, Dutch would be throwing a fit about getting his clothes dirty, but today he could make an exception. Once she was properly wrapped up, Dutch picked her up bridal style and carefully carried her out of the home. 

To his surprise, Hosea was standing by the horses waiting for him, cradling a not so frighten looking Athur; who was petting Hosea's horse with a tiny smile on his face. Dutch caught himself smirking, but that soon vanished when he remembered what he was carrying. Dutch made an attempt to walk as casual as he could, but how do you do that while carrying a child's dead mother? 

As soon as Dutch entered his view, Hosea turned to him and attempted to speak, but was silenced by what the young man was carrying. Arthur didn't seem too interested in Dutch, Hosea's kind horse had the boy's attention more than anything. Hosea's mouth opened and closed on many occasions, but no words would come out, yet the look of confusion and horror said it all.

"Do you think you could bury her?" Dutch said in a hush tone. "Somewhere peaceful near some flowers...the poor thing deserves some peace after the hell she faced."

Hosea frowned, but he nodded his head which made Dutch move quickly to the back of Hosea's horse and place Beatrice on the back safely and securely. Dutch apologized once more quietly before returning to Hosea's side. 

Arthur continued to pet the horse, as Dutch watched him serenely. The boy's eyes sparkle with such innocence that Dutch couldn't stop himself from smiling; it was a sight he had not seen in a very long time. Clearing his throat, Dutch bent down slightly to make eye contact, as he called sweetly.

"Arthur."

Immediately, the boy's eye lit up like matches at the sound of his name, as he looked at Dutch. His expression almost made Dutch chuckle: Arthur's pupils had grown significantly and his mouth was slightly ajar.

"Hi Arthur," Dutch repeated, as he tipped his hat like the gentleman he was. "It's good to see you again."

Hosea bounced Arthur up and down attempting to get some words out hoping the boy could speak, but Arthur just lifted his hand and gave a nervous wave. Dutch stood up straight and held out his hands to Arthur.

"I talked to your Mama, Arthur and she asked us to keep an eye on you for a while." Dutch lied, as Arthur's eyes filled with tears. "Would you like to ride with me?"

Startled, Arthur jumped and hid his face into Hosea's neck where he started to cry. And just like a empty shot glass in a drunk man's hand, Dutch's heart shattered into a million pieces, as Hosea comforted the boy.

Rubbing gentle circles on the boy's trembling back, Hosea cradled Arthur close and softly shushed him, as Dutch stood there with his arms sadly by his side. Hosea gave Dutch a reassuring smile, as Arthur slowly began to calm down and his cries turned into whimpers, yet he clinged to Hosea's jacket for dear life.

"I'll take him Dutch if you wanna, uhh."

Dutch's eyes hit the dusty earth as he nodded and turned on his heels to switch Beatrice to his horse. Hoping on his horse, Dutch quickly began giving orders.

"Ride around for a bit, get the boy comfortable and meet me in Valentine."

"No problem, but, uhh Dutch?"

"What?"

"Ya might wanna switch clothes...I don't think the Sheriff would appreciate ya waltzing in covered in blood...might get the wrong idea."

Dutch nodded and quickly rode off on his horse kicking up dust in the process. Halfway out the ranch, Dutch looked over his shoulder to see, Hosea place Arthur on the saddle before hoping on himself and riding off in a different direction.

Shaking off the dreadful feeling in his gut, Dutch rode around every valley and hill to find the perfect spot, but wasn't quite satisfied. He stuck up his nose at every spot either there weren't enough flowers or the dirt wasn't right, he just couldn't pick a spot. From Scarlett meadows to Cumberland Forest, nothing. Nothing seemed right. 

Till he reached the ledge of Cumberland Falls. Watching the sunlight sparkle in the crystal clear water and listening to the calming roar of the falls finally gave Dutch some closure. Under a small pine tree surrounded by vibrant wild flowers, Dutch grabbed his shovel and started to dig. The once beautiful sun became Dutch's worst enemy about 4ft deep, he wiped his sweaty brow with his handkerchief and let out a groaned, as he tossed another shovel full of earth over his shoulder. 

Snorting, The Count began circling the grave while Dutch continued to work relentlessly. This hole felt miles deep to Dutch, but the shade the grave provided for a little while gave him hope and helped him finish the job. Sighing with exhaustion, Dutch grunted loudly as he dragged himself out of the grave and laid on the ground to catch his breath. Seeing his tired master panting on the ground, The Count walked up to Dutch and began sniffing his head.

"N-not now, boy" Dutch mumbled, as he petted his horse's snout. "Daddy's a little tired. G-give me a second."

Suddenly, The Count huffed and blew hot air directly into Dutch's face making the man growl in disgust and quickly sit up.

"Thanks Count," Dutch said sarcastically, while he wiped his face. "I really needed a steam cleaning."

The Count nodded his head, as Dutch brought himself to his feet and used his horse for balance. The hard part was over, but the worst was yet to come, now he had to bury the body.

Slowly walking to the rear, Dutch grabbed a hold of Beatrice and carried her to her final resting place. She wasn't a heavy girl, the tablecloth felt heavier than she did, but that didn't lighten the situation. Gingerly lowering her down, all Dutch think about were those sky blue eyes filled to the brim with scared tears. Due to Arthur's age, Dutch thought about how the boy would never remember his mother, but only the tragedy that had happened on this day.

Shaking his head and cursing under his breath, Dutch placed her down, but was startled when something touched his pant leg. Beatrice's left hand had slipped out of its binds and fell upon Dutch's boot. Calming his fast beating heart, Dutch knelt down to fix it, but something shining caught his well trained eye. 

A wedding ring.

Her ring was the only thing on her person that wasn't bruised or bloody, but held the most punishment and pain. A visious scowl took over Dutch's face: his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows arched down, and his upper lip twitched.

Not even thinking, Dutch yanked the golden ring off her cold finger and held it in the palm of his dirty covered hands. With his nostrils flaring, Dutch pulled himself out of the grave forcing dirt under his nails, and dragged his knees along the shifted soil. Holding the ring tightly in his grasp, Dutch had the appearance of a corpse crawling out of its grave, as he walked to the edge of the falls. 

Dutch wasn't sure where this uncontrollable rage was coming from, but he had it and he was about to burst. Taking one last look at the ring he closed his fist and threw that ring as far as he could while letting out a ear shattering wail. With his momentum after tossing the ring over the falls, Dutch lost his footing and fell to his knees with a thud. 

Breathing heavily, Dutch laid there in silence watching the water wash the ring away with his heart pounding a mile a minute. As Dutch caught his breath he let out a painful grunt, as he got to his feet and retrieved his shovel.

He silently filled the grave watching Beatrice's body be covered by the dark earth and slowly disappear out of sight. The sky was slowly turning a lovely shade of orange as the sun dipped behind the mountains stealing most of the light from the bright valley. 

After the grave had been filled, Dutch gently pat the soil down with his shovel and removed his hat exposing his sweaty forehead.

"Miss Morgan," Dutch started, as he put his hat over his heart. "Like I said earlier, I'm not a nice man, but I vow to you here and now, I won't let anything happen to your son; not when there is air in my lungs and life in my eyes. I'll take care of your son."

Giving her a moment of silence, Dutch put his hat back on and returned to his horse who got a loving pat, as he saddled up. Before he left he tipped his hat to her.

"Good evening, ma'am."

The Count let out a loud whine before they set off. As they rode off, Dutch looked down at his forearms and spotted the blood covering his shirt, and remembered what Hosea had said. Quickly, as they could Dutch made a fast trip to camp to make himself more presentable.

Dismounting, Dutch kept his head down as he headed for his tent. He just wanted to make himself decent and head over to Valentine before anyone noticed he was there. 

"Dutch van der linde!" 

Dutch instantly stood up straight as Miss Grimshaw in all her grace and glory marched right through camp to reach him with an unhappy frown stretched across her face. With a stress filled sigh, Dutch dropped his head and pitched the bridge of his nose, as he turned to face the lovely Miss Grimshaw.

"Miss Grimshaw," Dutch chuckled through his teeth, as he forced a smile. "What can I do for you on this fine evening?"

Suddenly, Miss Grimshaw started waving her finger in Dutch's face, "Oh no don't you start that with me, Mr. Van der linde. You and Hosea have been out all day where have you two been?" She put her hands on her hips. "I've had to keep this place together while you two are playing Cowboys."

"I appreciate your help, Miss Grimshaw, but Hosea and I hit a ranch this morning and ran into a little bit of an...issue."

"Not those damn O'driscoll's again."

He chuckled, "No, no nothing like that Miss Grimshaw, but a..."

"A what?"

A small smile peered from his lips, "A babe, Miss Grimshaw. A little baby boy."

She gasped and took a step back, "Dutch van der linde! I swear to God if you hurt a hair on that-"

"I'll stop you right there Miss Grimshaw!" Dutch barked, now wagging his finger at her. "We found the boy hiding in the horse stable...his father murdered his mother and the boy witnessed the whole damn thing."

Miss Grimshaw covered her mouth with her hands and shook her head, "The poor thing...where...where is he now?"

"He's with Hosea in Valentine. And I just finished burying his mama up at Cumberland falls, but if I don't get going-"

Suddenly, Miss Grimshaw spun Dutch around and pushed him towards his camp.

"What are you doing talking to me! Go, go, go you silly man!"

Dutch laughed, "You were talking to me!"

"Now, you hush and bring that boy home I wanna see 'em, shoo go."

Dutch dug his boots into the ground immediately ceasing his movement and turned to Miss Grimshaw.

"Woah, now slow down there, Miss Grimshaw," Dutch's voice went flat for a moment. "I didn't say we were gonna keep him, he's not a dog, he's a child."

"Dutch van der linde, you are not leaving that boy in Valentine, he won't survive the winter. You bring that boy here, you hear me?"

Dutch scoffed at her, "I'll think about it, good evening Miss Grimshaw."

"And you too, Mr. van der linde."

As she walked off, Dutch darted to his tent and quickly switched his clothes from his jacket and dress shirt to his tailored red vest and pearl white dress shirt. He dusted off his hat and pants, and checked himself in his handheld mirror.

"Keep him?" Miss Grimshaw's voice bounced around his head and made him think. "Bring him home?"

Miss Grimshaw's words stuck with him, as he mounted his horse and rode away heading for Valentine. The Count was charging the whole way without slowly down, he was a good horse with a strong bond with his rider. Dutch praised his horse every time he let out a whinny and patted him generously till the reached Valentine.

The Count was grunting and panting, as they stopped at a hitching post. Even as night fell thousands of candle lamps light the tiny town with a soft glow. Dismounting, Dutch began his search for Hosea and Arthur.

It was the middle of summer, but the road was nothing more than a mud filled street that grab your boots and pull you down. Scanning each porch and shop in sight, but still no sight of the two troublemakers. Dutch could feel himself walking in circles passing the same ugly mugs, but seeing the people he was looking for.

That odd uneasy feeling hit Dutch's stomach again, as he picked up the pace and nearly snapped his neck as he through his head around. Dutch knew he was making a scene, so he threw himself into the Saloon to get himself a calm down drink.

Busting through the batwing doors, Dutch kept a hand on his holster, as he approached the bar and tapped it with his ring finger.

A friendly looking bartender with a black combover and curly mustache approached Dutch with a mug in one hand and a spit rag in the other.

"What can I get ya friend?"

"A shot of whiskey."

"50 cents per shot, buddy."

Dutch nodded and tossed the bartender his money, while he poured Dutch a heavy drink. Before the bartender could even place the glass on the counter, Dutch snatched it and threw it down his throat in a matter of seconds.

Coughing, Dutch felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine, as he smacked the glass down and pulled himself away from the bar.

"Thank you, sir. You have a nice night."

"Same to you friend."

With the fire in his belly, Dutch exited the Saloon and pulled out a cigar from his satchel. Tearing off the tip with his teeth, place the cigar upon his lips and reached for his matches till he heard a child laughing. His hand froze in his bag, as he heard the laughter again. His cigar fell from his mouth, as he turned his head towards the horse stable down the road and recognized the horse hitched up front. 

Running as fast as his legs would carry him, Dutch helped himself into the stable and let out a sigh of relief when he spotted Hosea puffing on a cigarette counting a stack of dollar bills while, Arthur ran around with the stable dogs who chased the the boy and barked playfully. 

"There you are, we've been waiting for you," Hosea laughed, as he bit down on his cigarette and split his stack of money. "Here's your share. That was a good horse the Morgan's had, the stable master paid good for him."

"And the boy?"

Hosea took a look over his shoulder, "Oh, he's fine doesn't talk much and refuses to let go of that plush of his. Says his mama made it for him...he wouldn't even let me clean the blood off it."

Dutch watched Arthur play with the dogs and was surprised, he hadn't heard him come in the way he did. 

"Where is she buried?" 

Without looking away from Arthur, Dutch replied, "Under a pine tree up by Cumberland falls not too far from here."

"Good...good."

"How are those cuts on his feet?" Dutch asked scratching his nose. "From what I remember they didn't look too good."

"I haven't gotten the chance to look, but you don't need to worry about that."

Hosea reached into his satchel and pulled out a cigarette and handed it to Dutch who gladly accepted and lit it. He took a long drag and blew out a big white cloud before asking

"If we don't do something they'll get infected."

Hosea put a comforting hand on his friends shoulder and sighed, "I already have a plan." He took a drag. "I know a sister who runs an orphanage in Saint Denis who'd gladly take the boy...he'll be safe there."

Surprised by what he heard, Dutch clenched his throat and started to choke on cigarette smoke.

"W-what?" Dutch spat, as he dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his boot.

Hosea turned to Dutch and saw that look in his eyes that kind of a look a dog gives its owner after their locked outside on a cold night: confused and betrayed.

"Dutch...we can't keep him."


	3. Be Better

Dutch glared down at Hosea with his eyes narrowed, clearly crossed by the older man's response. Hosea's eyes hit the ground for less then a second before firing straight for Dutch with a burning passion. 

"Can we take this outside?" Hosea asked with a hint of grumbled intimidation. "We shouldn't talk about this in front of him."

Dutch grabbed the barn door, opened it and gestured out the door with his hand, "After you...Mr. Matthews," His voice carried a low rumble as he growled and Hosea walked out without giving him a second look.

As both men stepped outside, Dutch closed the door behind them and crossed his arms across his chest like an disappointed Father. Hosea puffed his chest out and inhaled deeply.

"We can't keep the boy, Dutch."

While Hosea repeated himself, Dutch had pulled out a second cigar, prepared it and held it between his teeth in no time at all. 

"Is that so?" Dutch questioned, as smoke spilled from his mouth.

Putting his hands out, Hosea let out a quick sigh.

"What we have here, Dutch is a bad situation. A young, orphan boy who doesn't know he's an orphan may I remind you and you wanna take him under your wing?" Hosea raised a brow. "This boy deserves a better life Dutch, and you know that."

"What life?" Dutch asked, as burning ash fell from his cigar. "We're the only ones who know what happened to his mama, and you want me to abandon this poor boy and the steps of a clueless orphanage? Whats gonna happen in ten years, Hosea? What are those sisters gonna tell that boy when he asks, what happened to my mama, huh?"

"That's not the point, Dutch," As Dutch was raising his voice, Hosea was lowering his. "Listen to me."

Showing his teeth, Dutch's hands fell to his hips, "You better start talking, Mr. Matthews."

"You did the same damn thing with Micah. This damn baby fever of yours needs to end before I put you in for hysteria," Hosea stated not backing away. "And that boy is as screwed as a drunk hooker without her skirt. This boy has a chance of living a life without crime...it's what the poor thing deserves, Dutch."

Dutch rolled his eyes and threw his hands up, "Good God, Hosea, you're talking nonsense. This country runs on people like us. We keep this country moving whether you believe it or not; that's your judgement, but by the sounds of it...you don't have my back."

Hosea's mouth fell open slightly, "Don't you start with that Van der linde. I've been running with you for years and I've never lied to you, cheated you or even dreamed of turning my back on you, so don't you dare throw that crap at me."

Suddenly, Dutch spat out his cigar sending ambers flying, "Do you...have my back, Mr. Matthews?"

Hosea didn't answer, as Dutch stepped closer and closer and the moonlight casted an eerie silhouette around Dutch. After a few steps, Hosea had no choice, but to start backing up he was being followed by a horrible looking shadow.

Dutch loomed over Hosea with a towering build and fiery rage. Unable to go anywhere, Hosea was forced against the barn door with Dutch mere inches away breathing hot air in his face. 

"You...know I'll always have you back, Dutch...you know that," Hosea mumbled trying to keep eye contact with him. "Now, back up you bastard."

Dutch chuckled triumphantly, holding his arms out victorious, as he gave Hosea his space, "That's good Hosea, you had me worried there, but I knew you were a good man...a smart man."

Hosea's gaze hit the dirt, as he adjusted his jacket, unable to say anything back.

Cupping his hands excitedly, Dutch laughed, "Now the way I see it this is a great learning opportunity for Micah, he'll have a little brother to give him the chance to be responsible...for once."

"Or the opportunity to shoot a moving target," Hosea sassed raising both brows while crossing his arms. "You know how much that boy loves to shoot."

Dutch groaned, "Not. On. My. Watch."

"Dutch," Hosea grumbled in a low tone. "You're not thinking clearly. Just sit down a moment and think this through, will ya?"

Dutch huffed turning around and reached for the barn doors, "I always have a plan, Mr. Matthews, now if you'll excuse me, I have a boy to-"

"This is about Annabelle, isn't it?"

Dutch had only just opened the doors till he froze at the sound of his passed lover's name. Hosea watched Dutch's fingernails dig mercilessly into the flesh of the wood and scrape it away, as if it were nothing.

"Annabelle...always wanted sons."

Before Hosea could respond, Dutch stormed into the barn closing the door in his face, as he called out for the boy. 

"Arthur! Son, we got something to talk about...where are you?"

Hosea felt his heart start to race, as he heard, Dutch's spurs click on the ground getting faster and faster every time he called out. 

"Real funny, Arthur, now come out, I need to talk to you."

Dutch's tone changed quickly from his usual confidence to a worried groan, as the sounds of hay being tossed around to a bucket being kicked across the room. Dutch was mad and Hosea knew why.

Hosea rubbed his forehead nervously with his hands trembling, he knew what he did was wrong, but he wasn't about to tell Dutch that. Dutch continued to rampage through the barn tossing things around and tearing the barn apart startling all the horses making them jump, whinny and kick.

Till he spotted the stable boy.

A young man with a scrawny build and sunken face; the bags under his eyes were heavy, as if he had just left his grave and had trouble moving his legs. The boy looked rough, but that didn't stop Dutch from grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and squeezing tightly.

"Where. Is. Arthur!" He barked, as the stable boy shrieked in terror. "Where is he!"

"W-who?!" The stable boy cried, as he grabbed Dutch's arm. "I don't know nothing mister!"

With an open hand, Dutch smacked him in the mouth nearly sending the boy to the ground. If Dutch wasn't holding him, he would be face down in horse shit.

"The boy, Arthur! He was just here playing with the dogs! Where is he!"

Suddenly, the barn doors swung open and Hosea threw himself in with a stride full of purpose.

"Let him go, Dutch!" Hosea's voice was shaken, but still carried force. "Arthur is gone!"

Without turning back, Dutch released the stable boy who fell to his knees coughing and clutching his assaulted neck. Dutch rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles before looking back at Hosea who looked a little pale, as Hell burned brightly in Dutch's eyes.

"Where's Arthur, Hosea?" 

"To a better place, Dutch; somewhere he'll be safe and adopted by a proper family. He doesn't need to suffer like we do, Dutch."

Dutch got into Hosea's face and muttered, "We don't suffer....we survive." 

"He wouldn't survive the winter Dutch! Listen to what-"

Ramming his elbow into Hosea's chest, Dutch darted out of the Stable and headed for his horse. He kicked up mud like nobody's business, running at full speed almost tripping in the process. Seeing The Count waiting patiently unaware of the run he was about to endure made Dutch feel guilty, but it mattered. 

"Come on boy," Dutch stated, as he got in his saddle and patted his horse. "We got a long night ahead of us, let's go!"

And just like that they were off disappearing in the night like a phantom of the breeze; riding off to Saint Denis.

* * *

The horses were loud and their carriage was crowded, Arthur bumped shoulders with strangers twice his age or younger all wearing frowns and some bearing tears and dripping snot. While normal carriages carried princesses and royal family like in his picture books this one carried orphans; and when normal carriages had walls made of wood and gold this one had walls made of cold steel bars. 

Limbs of frighten children hung through the bars of their moving cage, as Arthur had forced himself into the corner near the locked metal door; holding his plush horse for dear life while heavy tears fell from his eyes and rolled down his rosy cheeks. He didn't know anyone; this was all new, so many different faces and so many different smells, Arthur didn't know what to do. 

The coachman on the other hand was having a ball. Laughing and sipping out of a bottle of moonshine swinging in his one hand. With moonshine warming his heavy belly that poor carriage was hitting every rock and bump on the road nearly throwing the children out of their seats. The sounds of whimpering and unknown fear filled the carriage, as words of panic escaped their tiny mouths.

"Where are we going!"

"I wanna go home!"

"Mama!"

"Where'd Sissy go?"

A sudden smell of urine entered Arthur's nose, as a young boy across from him covered his damp private parts with his hands and tears rolled down his dirty face. In disgust everyone began to move away from the soiled boy, shoving and pushing one another, as some fell to the hay covered floor others squealed in pain and protested the forced movement. 

With his body being squished against the wooden wall, Arthur's arm was being attacked by hundreds of little splinters and digging into his skin. In pain, Arthur let out a cry of pain which joined the dozens of other cries and whimpers around the carriage.

During the chaos, a older boy with brown hair and matching eyes who sat next to Arthur, stood up and yelled, "Everyone stop!" 

Like an old schoolmaster, the boy's loud tone silenced the entire carriage and all eyes were on him. The pushing had ceased, as the children listened to standing boy.

"Everyone needs to calm down, now I don't know where we're going, but I-"

"Ehh, shut up back there!" The coachman burped, as he banged on the steel bars. "We'll be there soon."

The standing boy gave the coachman the finger aggressively before he returned to his seat while the carriage remained quiet. With a moment of silence, the boy looked down at Arthur with a curious glare. Arthur could feel the boy's eyes staring at him, but he didn't dare look up. Arthur didn't know him, he didn't know anyone.

"My names Bill Williamson...what's yours?"

Frightening by Bill's tone, Arthur jumped and turned away, as Bill let out a huff and crossed his arms.

Suddenly, the coachman broke out into a drunken song startling the children with his deafening, slurred voice, as the carriage began to swerve awkwardly. The single lit lantern that dangled from the ceiling bars swung violently leaving some children in the darkness while others remained in the candle's light. 

A young Hispanic boy about seven sitting in front of Arthur couldn't keep still, the boy sat on his knees facing away from the other children looking upon the horizon. His long dark hair blew in the wind, as he called into the night.

"Mamá, ¿dónde estás?"

Arthur tilted his head at the strange words coming out of the boy's mouth. He had never heard such a thing in his young life. The way the boy clung to the bars sent a shiver down Arthur's spine. The boy's knuckles were turning white, as he shook the bars and cried out again.

"Estoy aquí mamá aquí!"

"Shut up!" The coachman barked, as he banged on their cage again. "Ya Goddamn beaner!"

"Estoy aquí mamá aquí!"

"Jesus!"

Suddenly, the horses let out loud cry, as they dug their hooves into the dirt and brought the carriage to a sudden halt. The children screamed, as they fell onto one another and flew from their seats.

Curious about their sudden stop, Arthur poked his head through the bars and spotted a young Hispanic women in a yellow dress covered in dust. Her teary eyes matched the beautiful shine of emeralds and long hair with the colour of the night. The disturbed women put her hands together and fell to her knees in front of her carriage, as she pleaded.

"Por favor devuélveme a mi hijo!"

The coachman sat in silence, as she repeated her phrase several times, he looked at the children, as if they knew what was happening then back to her scratching his head. He waved her away, yet she refused to move; clearly not fearing that she could be easily trampled by horses and left for dead.

"Te has llevado a mi hijo!" 

"I can't understand you, you crazy women!" The coachman snapped. "Get outta the way, I gotta job to do!"

"No tengo dinero!"

"I'm sorry, miss, but you gotta move." 

The Hispanic boy, suddenly had a fit and started jumping up and down, "Mamá, mamá, mamá!"

"Shut up back there!"

"Deja ir a mi hijo!" She begged, as she brought herself to her feet and approached the coachman with her hands out. "Tómame! Toma mi cuerpo!"

As the women approached the coachman, she had her hands on her generously sized breasts, as if she was offering them to him. The Coachman's eyes widen, as he whistled in arousal. 

Tears fell from the woman's eyes, as she slowly undid the strings of her corset and the coachman laughed.

"Now, that I understand, perfectly."

Her corset fell to the dirt creating a small dust cloud at her feet, as she freed her shoulders. Her body trembled in the cool breeze, as she exposed her breasts and began to sob. The coachman quickly jumped down from his seat and began to admire the lady.

"Well ain't you a pretty sight."

She pointed to the Hispanic boy, who reached out to her through the bars.

"Mi hijo mi hijo!"

The coachman noticed what the woman was after and caressed his shaggy beard, "Ooh, I see that's your boy." The women cupped her hands releasing her dress and let it fall to the ground. "I...think we can make a deal...little miss. Why don't you follow me."

Bill nudged Arthur's shoulder, pulled him in close and pointed towards the door"Can you reach the lock?" Arthur followed Bill's hand till he spotted the heavy pad lock. "That's our way out."

Arthur looked up at Bill, who nodded his head in encouragement and nudged Arthur closer to the door, "Come on, their busy, go."

Confused, Arthur just stared at Bill with his eyes trembling, as Bill pushed him closer to the lock.

"I have a pick, take it," Bill instructed, as he handed Arthur a small silver pick from his pocket. "I can't think through the bars, so you do it."

Bill placed the cold pick in Arthur's hand who held it tightly and examined it. The pick was bigger than Arthur's entire hand, but when Bill picked him up and placed him on the floor the lock got farther away. Not realizing Arthur's height, Bill stood up.

"Hold on, I'll pick you up and you pick the lock." 

Not waiting for a answer, Bill picked Arthur up by his underarms and hoisted him closer to the lock.   
Arthur reached out with the pick and looked back at Bill.

"Put the pick in the lock, stupid!" Bill snapped. "Hurry up!"

Arthur returned his attention to the lock and did as Bill asked and put the pick in the lock. Arthur wasn't sure what he was doing, but he was doing something right because Bill went quiet. The other children started to stare at Bill and Arthur and quickly understood what they were doing and tried to help. 

Dozens of little hands popped out of the carriage shaking the bars till a loud click silenced them. Everyone held their breath, as they watched the heavy lock fall from it's place. Bill kicked the door open and made it swing, as he tossed Arthur out on a plate of grass. 

Like chickens out of a coop, the children poured out and fled in every direction. Terrified, Arthur used his hands to cover his head, as the others trampled over him leaving him all by himself. Arthur sobbed into the wet grass, so scared for his life.

He didn't move till the only sound he could hear were strange noises coming from the nearby forest. Shaking and trembling, Arthur slowly lifted his head from the ground and looked around. Everyone was gone. Whimpering softly, he got to his knees and wiped his faces of the dirt and snot. 

With the legs of a newborn foal, Arthur was shaking till he got to his feet; while he looked around for anyone in sight. He spotted the imprints left by the horses in the dirt and tilted his head.

After wiping his nose, Arthur the only thing he could and started following the prints. Little stones poked at Arthur's feet making him limp and whimper, but he just kept on walking.

With his plush horse in hand, Arthur Morgan was going home


	4. Babe In The Grass

Walking on burning coals would have been better for Arthur's little feet, even pieces of glass would have felt like feathers compared to the dust and sharp stones piercing his skin. Hanging onto his plush by the hoove, that poor horse was dragged across the dirt like a pig in mud. Arthur wasn't sure where he was going, but his feet just kept going. His knees were scraped to Hell, as blood trickled down his trembling legs and hit his feet. Some loose tears stained his face leaving cracks in his dirt covered skin, his clothes were dirtier than before, so he couldn't wipe his puffy eyes. The tears had to stay and scroll down his chin.

The dish shaped moon was Arthur's only source of light that night, but such a glow created the most horrendous shadows among the forest trees. Monsters, demons and ghoul appeared and disappeared from the boy's tired eyes, yet his legs wouldn't stop their continuous march. Branches turned into claws, and brushes growled in the summer breeze, shaking him to the core.

Afraid for his very life, Arthur did what he had to....and grabbed a stick. He looked for the biggest one he could find, but quickly realized he couldn't pick it up, so he grabbed the second biggest one he could find and carried that instead. And like a noble knight, Arthur swung that stick around, as if it were a sword and cradled his plush closer to his pounding chest.

Eventhough he was afraid and wounded, he was gonna fight like the little man he was, and carrying that stick sure brought him comfort. Continuing down the dirt path, smacking every bush that moved, Arthur wore a heavy scowl: with his eyebrows arched downward, his eyes narrowed and his bottom lip stuck out in an angry pout.

Watching the shadow filled forest, Arthur wasn't paying any attention to the path till he tripped and tumbled over a object in the road. Flaying like a fish outta water, Arthur was on his back screaming and swinging his stick sword around nobodys business. Arthur kept his eyes shut, as the sound of his stick whooshing passed his ears and he kicked his feet in the air. No monsters were getting his soul tonight.

Suddenly, his stick stricked something and stricked it hard. Arthur's entire arm vibrated, as he gasped and opened his eyes one by one. Imagining the beast he would before him, Arthur's chubby cheeks turned a bright shade of red when he discovered the beast that he had attacked...was a rock. Letting out an embarrassed giggle, Arthur quickly scrambled to his feet and continued on, but not before he picked up the rock and chucked it into the woods. 

Feeling proud of himself, Arthur stuck out his tongue and stormed off with his nose up and horse in tow. 

* * *

The Count snorted loudly, sprinting as fast as his four legs could take him. Dutch was working his horse hard through that summer night, even though he could barely see anything, he knew Arthur was out there. A sudden whinny of protest and The Count switched his sprint for a joyful gallop. Dutch sighed and petted his horse's majestic white mane.

"Good boy," He praised, with a sigh of disappointment. "Don't hurt yourself, we'll find him."

The Count threw his head around like he was nodding in agreement, as Dutch reached into The Count's satchel and pulled out his small oil lantern which he quick lit. Holding the lantern high, the lantern's light was bright, but it was bright enough to light his dusty path. The wind blew softly passed Dutch's ears teasing him with the thought he could hear a voice. 

Looking around keeping his eyes glued on the thicket, Dutch trotted along as he started whistling out a tone. His lips were dry and chapped and his throat craved a drink, but that wouldn't stop the song in his soul.

His heart raced at a dangerous pace, as sweat appeared upon his brow; Arthur was so young and that worried Dutch so very much, God knows what could have happened. Bandits could have robbed their carriage mistaken them for riches and gold, a bear could have attacked, or maybe their coachman was a con man selling the children off to slavers over seas. Dutch felt like he was gonna puke. Arthur's blue eyes were burned in his mind; they held so much innocence yet had so much fire, Dutch saw something in that boy, but he wasn't sure what. 

"Don't worry, son," Dutch mumbled under his breath. "I have a plan."

Suddenly, the flame of a candle in the distance and the sound of horses caught his attention, as well as a man cursing. Emerging from the darkness came a two horse empty carriage with steel bars. Dutch rolled his eyes, as he was forced to move to the side of the road to help the carriage pass, yet when the driver spotted Dutch, his drunken eyes widen and he yanked his horses back and made them stop pretty darn fast; sending dust flying up in clouds.

As the dust faded, Dutch already had his pistol in his grasp, ready to fire waiting for the coachman to make a stupid mistake. The coachman's eyes were red and filled with worry, as he called out to Dutch.

"Hey, mister, I need your help. Have ya seen any kids running around here?"

Dutch's eye brow slowly rose in confusion, as his eyes shifted side to side.

"Excuse me?"

"Kids little kids! Have ya seen um?"

"Don't you raise your voice at me boy!" Dutch scolded, as he pointed his pistol right at the coachman's nose. "Unless you want a bullet in your brain."

Startled by the shining silver of Dutch's gun, the coachman put his hands up, jumping back in his seat, "Now, hold up friend. I just wanted help."

Staring the man down, it suddenly hit Dutch and he slowly put his pistol down, "Well maybe you could help me first, friend? 

"Hey, I asked you-"

"Great, now just like you, I'm looking for someone. A young boy," Dutch explained, as he put a hand upon his knee. "About five years old, short just passed my knee, light brown hair and blue eyes."

The coachman let out a awkward chuckle, as he scratched his head, "Listen mister, I done saw way too many kids today to remember any of um, but if you happen to see any-"

As fast as a pissed off snake, Dutch had his hand wrapped around the coachman's skinny throat in a matter of seconds, ceasing the noise he was making. 

"Prehaps, you didn't hear me, correctly. I said, I'm looking for a boy."

Choking and slowly turning blue, the coachman knew Dutch wasn't kidding around and quickly spat out.

"Now, t-that you mention it, I do remember picking up a boy in Valentine to take to Saint D-Denis. B-big blue eyes....that sound like him?"

"Where?" Dutch growled, as he squeezed his fist making the coachman squeal in protest. "Where did you see him last?"

"Stop c-c-choking me first!"

With a growl, Dutch shoved the coachman away and sat back in his saddle, as the coachman coughed and held his throat.

"They all ran off, one of those little bastards picked the lock and they all scattered," The coachman explained, as he grabbed his bottle of moonshine and took a swig. "That Nun is gonna kill me."

"Where did the boy go!" Dutch barked, shaking his fist. "You damn bastard!"

His body trembling, the coachman pointed behind him down the trail, "That way, the boy went that way....now leave me alone."

Calmly, Dutch tipped his hat in a gentleman's fashion, "Why thank you very much. You have a nice night, sir," Slowly, Dutch raised his pistol to the sky and shoot off a bullet that startled the coachman's horses and sent them off running causing the coachman to scream in panic.

Looking in the direction the coachman pointed in, Dutch returned his gun to his holster and patted his horse, causing him to trot deeper into the night.

Marching in silence for a moment a sudden tune escaped Dutch's lips, as the crickets and coyotes howls and chirps echoed in the distance, sheltered by the blanket of darkness that covered the night.

Dutch was gonna find that boy, even if it killed him.

 

* * *

Exhausted by his travels, Arthur had found himself a patch of long grass and made himself a seat. The grasses soft and comforting touch on his aching feet soothed him to a point not a single tear could be found in his eyes. The nightly dew swept across his face cleaning him like a caring mother, as he laid back letting the grass cradle him.

Looking up at the black summer night sky millions of shining stars showed their heavenly glow. Those stars put Arthur's eye to shame with their shine like diamonds in candle light. Arthur's mouth fell open with awe, as he gazed at the stars above him. There were so many, Arthur couldn't even imagine counting them all.

A yawn escaped Arthur's lips as he rubbed his sleepy eyes and placed his plush by his side. It had been a long day for the boy, so his weariness was to be expected. His eye lids grew heavy, as he sunk deeper into the grass getting sleepier and sleepier by the second.

With one last look at the beautiful night sky, Arthur fell asleep like a babe in its cot: peacefully and unafraid, yet unaware. 

So, unaware of what lurked in the forest that night.


	5. Carry Me Home

A peaceful silence takes over the land. The moon shines brightly against the leafs on the trees, as they dance and rustle in the wind. As the breeze increases, it pushes against the grass, Arthur is laying in and gently brushes him softly and calmly. The child was calm and comfy in his warm bed of grass, alone, but safe in this basket like state. Suddenly, something felt wrong in the pit of his stomach, he felt like he was being stalked.

Red. Red eyes. Red eyes glowing in the dark, so far yet within reach. Arthur's eyes shot open and widen at the sight of the glowing eyes gliding through the thicket, stalking and glaring at him. 

The eyes burned into his mind holding him tightly like a trance, he was unable to look away. His body swayed side to side, as the eyes moved along the edge of the thicket. A aggressive growl made the forest tremble, as another pair of eyes pierced the night. Startled by the noise, Arthur was yanked from his trance and let out a squeal of terror.

Ducking down quickly, so he wouldn't be spotted, Arthur used his hands to cover his head, as the crunching of leafs got closer and multiplied. His heart was pounding in his ears with an eerie echo, as his vision remained blurred and distorted. 

He sat in silence holding his breath, praying to God it wasn't a bear or wolf. He had seen both predators before, but not so close before. Not to long ago, his father took him hunting, Arthur wasn't sure what they were hunting, but he was happy to be with his father even though their trip was short due to the rain.

Being as silent as he could, Arthur could no longer feel the eyes glaring at him, curious, Arthur peeked through the long grass, yet...he saw nothing. The eyes were gone. Slowly poking his head up from the grass, looking in ever direction, Arthur couldn't see anything, but the thicket covered in darkness. 

Rubbing his eyes to clear his visions, Arthur blinked continuously, but he still couldn't see. Unable to feel his plush, the young boy into a sudden panic searching everywhere in the grass to find his lost friend. 

A gentle whimper escaped, Arthur's throat, as he brushed passed every blade of grass, yet nothing. He could have sworn he left it right next to him, but it was gone.

Another growl sent Arthur face down into the grass, hiding. He could remember when wolves attacked his family's ranch, Arthur had been sleeping in his bed when he first heard the wolves howling. 

The sound of his father hopping out of bed and loading his shotgun frighten him dearly. Tears burst from his eyes, as he ran to his mother's bed, climbed in, and clinged to her for dear life. His mother soothed him by softly petting the top of his head and humming sweetly, as four gun shots sounded off in the distance. He never liked the sound of a gun being fired, but when his mother reassured him that, his father was protecting the horses, suddenly the gun shots didn't sound so bad. The calming sent of her perfume lulled him slowly while resting in her warm arms. It was a sweet as a red rose, but powerful indeed, yet all that mattered is that she was there, holding him, protecting him, and loving him with all her heart.

Tears formed in Arthur's eyes at the thought of his mother. Raised to be a polite and patient young man, Arthur was always told that good things come to those who wait, yet he wanted to see his mother again. From her diamond eyes to sparkling smile, his mother was perfect to him even though his parents yelled a lot. Even with tears in her eyes after the yelling stopped, her eyes were still pretty to Arthur. Even when her eyelids turned black and blue after she and father fought, her eyes were still pretty. Nothing could have ruin those eyes, not even death.

As Arthur remembered his mother the sound of a twig snapping not to far from his head sent a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, a mist of hot breath hit the back of his neck which caused him to start crying, he wanted to cry out for help, but the grass silenced him. Tears scrolled up his forehead, as the breathing got hotter and hotter almost burning his flesh. 

Slowly, the burning stopped and Arthur cried out in relief till frozen cold claws touched his shoulder. Arthur could have sworn his heart stopped, as the claws crept down his shoulder to his elbow. Arthur tried to pull away, but his body refused to move, he was frozen with fear.He tried to scream again, he felt the outburst boiling in his stomach, but as if someone poured mud in his throat he couldn't make a sound.

Suddenly, Arthur was flipped over onto his back and was met with the burning red eyes. His body trembled. This was it, Arthur believed he was going to die. To have his life ended by a wolf from Hell, Arthur closed his eyes and let more tears leave his eyes, as he heard of a faint voice at the back of his head.

"Wake up, son."

He froze and looked at the eyes, their burning glare had softened, and the fiery red had changed to a subtle brown. Slowly blinking his eyes, Arthur had awoken from his dream and in a daze, he looked up the shining stars above him while Dutch looked down at him. Letting out a yawn, Arthur stared at Dutch with confusion written all over his face.

Dutch let out a chuckle, at the child's expression, as Arthur rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up. Without an inch of fear in his eyes, Arthur reached out his little hands to Dutch, who smiled and picked him up. Tired, Arthur rested his chin on Dutch's shoulder yawning again and wrapped his arms around Dutch's neck. Sighing in relief, Dutch rubbed Arthur's back and cradled him close, as he carried him to his horse.

Spotting the child, The Count snorted in displeasure and stomped his hooves. Dutch glared at his horse and grabbed the harness.

"Easy boy, it's alright," Dutch comforted, as he brushed, The Count's snout. "You're okay."

Finally, the horse settled and Dutch quickly swung up with Arthur still hanging on. 

"You alright, son?" Dutch teased, tapping Arthur's back, as they started off.

Arthur slowly opened his eyes one at a time and leaned back to face the worried Dutch. 

With a soft tone, Arthur yawned before resting his chin back on Dutch's strong shoulder, "I'm...fine...Duck."

Dutch's eyes widen, as Arthur fell back to sleep. Technically that wasn't his name and if anyone even dared to do such a thing would have a boot in their mouth, but....that was allowed. Dutch sat their with his mouth ajar and cheeks slightly pink. 

Hosea would surely have his head for bringing the child back, but how could Dutch not keep the boy now. They way Arthur held onto his shirt the same way a son would hold his father, it reminded Dutch of his Father before he left. Arthur was now under his protection, no harm would dare cross that boy, Dutch made a vow to be the father he barely had and protect this boy with his life.

Trotting all the way back to camp lasted till dawn, Dutch had bags under his eyes, as Arthur sat in front with a cheek to cheek grin while playing with The Count's mane. Finally, bring his horse to a halt, Dutch climbed down holding Arthur in his arms, as Miss Grimshaw came running over with the brightest smile Dutch had ever seen on her.

"Mr. van der linde!" She squealed, as Hosea stuck his head out of his tent. "Ooh, there he is!"

Startled by the fast approaching women, Arthur tighten his grip on Dutch's collar and hid his face in Dutch's neck. Covering her heart with her hands and letting out a gentle, "Aww" Miss Grimshaw approached the two slower than before.

"He is just the sweetest little thing," She cooed till she noticed his tattered clothes, and lost her mind. "Dutch van der linde! How could you let this poor thing walk around looking like that!"

"Good morning, Miss Grimshaw," Dutch sighed, giving her a half smile. "Isn't it a lovely morning?"

Huffing in protest, Miss Grimshaw put her hands on her dress covered hips and raised a brow, "If we are going to be keeping this boy in my camp, he's taking a bath now."

Arthur's blue eyes shined in the sunlight, as he turned to look at Miss Grimshaw, as she waved at him.

"Hello," She greeted sweetly. "What's your name?"

"A-Arthur," He confessed in a quiet tone. "My names... Arthur."

Covering her mouth muffling her excitement, Miss Grimshaw just stared, with her cheeks going red. Arthur rested his head on Dutch's cheek, still keeping an eyes on the odd women, as Dutch gave him a reassuring pat on the back.

"This is Miss Grimshaw," Dutch explained, as he gestured to her. "She's a kind woman, Arthur. No need to be nervous, she'll take care of you."

A little smile appeared on Arthur's face, as he returned a little wave to be polite. Suddenly, Miss Grimshaw reached out to Arthur with the same smile, "Can I hold you?"

Arthur hesitated not sure what to do, he looked at Dutch, who smiled and gave him a little nod. Quietly, Arthur grabbed onto Miss Grimshaw who held him like a mother did with her new born baby; gently and lovingly. She cooed at him and made his cheeks go a deeper red which made her laugh, as she carried him away to her tent. Arthur watched Dutch stand there with his arms crossed, Dutch's smile and vanished, as Arthur disappeared from view from behind Miss Grimshaw's tent. 

Sighing deeply, Dutch pinched the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed trying to calm his racing mind. Listening to the fire crackle in the distance fire pit, Dutch just wanted silence, his heart was still racing from last night. Remembering the carriage made of bars all Dutch could picture were the what if's. What if bandits robbed them? What if he had gotten there too late? What if a predator attacked Arthur?

Suddenly, a heavy hand landed on Dutch's shoulder pulling him out of his thoughts and making him lift his head. It was Hosea who didn't look to impressed, yet he didn't look angry just unexpressive. 

"That boy was heading to Saint Denis, Dutch," Hosea stated, as his hands fell to his hips. "What happened?"

"That's right, Mr. Matthews," Dutch agreed, turning to his old friend. "He was heading to Saint Denis, but now he's home where he belongs."

Rubbing his forehead irritated, Hosea whispered angrily, "Dutch van der linde, you are not raising another Micah. That boy shouldn't be here."

Raising his hand, Dutch silanced Hosea and let out an odd eerie chuckle, "Hosea my old friend, this is just the beginning. We have a family here all of us...we're a family and a family stays together."

Hosea slowly nodded in silence and crossed his arms, but his sight fell to the ground. Dutch grabbed Hosea's shoulders and made him look him in the eyes.

"I love this family, Hosea. I would kill for this family, I have killed for this family, and I would gladly lie down for this family."

"I know that Dutch, but you've only just met this boy."

"I see something special in this boy, Hosea," Dutch confessed with a chuckle. "Just give me time and you'll see."

Hosea sighed in defeat and put his hands on top of Dutch's, "You know I always have your back, Dutch."

Dutch smiled with a toothy grin, "And you know I always have a plan."


	6. Hot Water And Suds

Arthur sat patiently in Miss Grimshaw's tent with his legs crossed and hands folded neatly in his lap. He scratched his head to end an itch, but his fingers got tangled in his grease filled curls. Arthur had not realized how dirty he had gotten over the past few days. His skin was far from its once milk coloured glory, he now resembled a dairy cow with his spots and such. And he smelled like one too.

Out by the fire with her bubbling kettle stood Miss Grimshaw who couldn't rid the smile from her face. A cherry glow washed over her young face like a new mother and Dutch noticed it right away. Dutch stayed outside his tent smoking a cigar and wiping his boots in grass. He not seen her smile like that in such a long time. Their romantic relationship had ended less then a year ago, yet their friendship remained. Taking her kettle off the fire with its piercing screech, Miss Grimshaw looked up at Dutch and smiled at him without saying a word before she turned and returned to her tent. 

A humorous huff came out of Dutch, as a cloud of smoke spilled from his lips. He knew this boy was a good idea. 

"Arthur~" Miss Grimshaw sang, as she entered her tent with a swing in her hips. "Your bath will be ready soon."

He nodded, playing with his dirt covered fingers, as his horse plush sat right by his side with its head leaning forward touching the ground. As Miss Grimshaw ready his bath, her eyes kept looking down at Arthur's plush which was still stained with blood.

A look of worry suddenly appeared on her face, as steam rised from the water in the little wooden tub. Miss Grimshaw ran back and fourth slowly filling the bath, as Arthur picked at the grass he was sitting on. A sudden sweet flower scent hit Arthur's nose, as bubbles flew from the tub catching Arthur's attention. His eyes grew to an abnormal size at the odd sight, Arthur had never seen such a sight. Just inches from his nose were little sparkling stars floating around, dancing and twirling all fancy free.

Excited, a giggle poured out of Arthur as he reached out to touch the sparkling delight. Miss Grimshaw laughed along with Arthur, as he jumped around the little tent trying to catch the escaping bubbles that danced around with an untameable direction. He spun around, jumped up and down and laughed till his belly hurt, but when he finally caught one; his fun suddenly stopped when it popped.

Staring at his hands, Arthur looked rather confused. Whatever that thing was it was gone now.

"Bye, bye," Arthur said, as he continued to look at his empty hands. "Bye, bye friend."

"Arthur?" Miss Grimshaw called in a soothing tone, as she placed her empty kettle down and fixed the ruffles in her dress. "Are you alright, hun?"

Arthur looked at her and just shrugged his shoulders, as he finally spotted the tub. Thousands maybe hundreds of thousands of bubbles covered the steaming water slowly floating away. Surprised by the glistening bubbles, Arthur showed no fear in approaching the tub and looking down into the shining water.

Slowly, Arthur took his index finger and brought it to the water, but Miss Grimshaw gasped and pulled the boy's hand away, and held it tenderly.

"That's hot Arthur, you can't touch it yet," She scolded, waving her finger close to Arthur's nose. "You have to wait till it cools, you wouldn't want to burn yourself, right."

Arthur nodded, as his cheeks brighten with embarrassment. With a comforting smile, Miss Grimshaw patted his head, but a small gasp came out of Arthur, as he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and landing on his backside with a thud. Surprised by his reaction, Miss Grimshaw covered her mouth and took a step back; she was startled she believed she hurt the poor boy.

"Goodness me!" She shrieked, as she looked down at the fallen child. "Are you alright, hun? Did I hurt you?"

Eyes wide and chest puffing in and out, Arthur was shaking like a leaf on a tree, as his little eyes trembled. If it wasn't for the dried mud smeared over his face, Arthur's face would have been white as snow. 

Miss Grimshaw grabbed her dress and approached the boy slowly and kneeled before him on both knees. Arthur's eyes were glued to the ground, yet they held such terror you'd think the grass was on fire. The tent went silent, as Miss Grimshaw studied Arthur's shaken face for a young boy to carry such fear in his eyes, it made her stomach flip with unease.

"It's gonna be alright, hun," She whispered, as Arthur slowly grabbed his plush without looking at it and held it under his chin. "Nothing bad will happen to you here. You are safe with us."

Arthur blinked repeatedly, as life returned to his eyes and he looked up at Miss Grimshaw; his mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. As he tried to speak he gently patted his horse's snout which was stained with dry blood, yet he didn't seem bothered at all.

"Miss Grimshaw! Miss Grimshaw!" A worried voice called, as a pair of fast feet quickly approached her tent. 

Arthur hid his face in the grass using his plush to cover his head, as Miss Grimshaw hurried to her feet. Entering the tent, with his messy, dirty, blond hair, poor excuse of a beard and shaking shotgun was fourteen year old Micah Bell. 

Springing out like a uncaged tiger, Micah had his shotgun pointed directly over Miss Grimshaw's head. It shivered in the young boy's hands, as he looked down the barrel for something to shoot, but his excitement quickly disappeared with no sight of danger.

Unpleased with the rude entrance, Miss Grimshaw put her hands on her hips and snapped, "Didn't we already have a talk about waving your gun in camp, Mr. Bell?"

Lowering his gun with a groan of displeasure, Micah turned his head and hacked out something nasty before turning back to her, "I heard you scream, you old hag! You're lucky to have someone like me watching you broken back!"

"When are you gonna act your age?"

"When are you gonna die?"

Letting out a sympathetic chuckle, Miss Grimshaw never took that boy's word to heart, "Maybe I should have a talk with Dutch about your behavior, Mr. Bell. Didn't he warn you already not to wave that thing around?"

Micah's mouth fell open, as he stuttered and fumbled around; his eyes twitched around, "What do you know? Nothing, that's what...I on the other hand am a gentleman with a vast vocabulary which you will never have."

"Do the words wood shed mean anything to you?"

Micah's gun fell to his side, as his cheeks took a slight shade of pink, as he rubbed the back of his neck, "I-I ain't no child, Miss Grimshaw....I...am a man; a man who carries a gun."

"A very stupid man," She growled, as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Now, is there something you need or our you here to bother me?"

"You should be thanking me, you old woman!" Micah spat pointing his finger. "I took time out of my day to make sure you were okay, but do I get a thank you?"

"Oh, grow up," She warned, with a hiss in her teeth. "And do your chores."

"You ain't my mama!"

Suddenly, she raised her hand with her palm open and made Micah jump, "I'll beat you like one, if you don't get your dirty backside out of my tent!"

Jumping back, Micah nearly lost his gun, but he caught something in the corner of his eye. Micah gasped, "What the hell is that?"

Miss Grimshaw looked over her shoulder to see what Micah was fussing about only to see, Arthur clinging to her petticoat with tears in his eyes.

"Miss Grimshaw! What the hell is that!"

Rolling her eyes, she turned back to Micah who looked shocked beyond belief and said, "This is Arthur-"

"Why do you have a child? You can't have babies?"

"Mr. Bell that's enough!"

Stepping back like a drunken fool, Micah eyed Arthur like he was the 8th wonder of the world, "I...I...I gotta tell Dutch, he'll...He'll be furious." Micah let out a sinister chuckle, as he waved his finger. "You're gonna be in so much trouble; wait till I tell Dutch."

Before she could speak, Micah dashed off kicking up dirt, as he ran off to Dutch's tent calling out his name like a wounded dog. Miss Grimshaw just shook her head in a mocking matter at the boy's behavior, as she looked down at Arthur who still had a good grip on her dress; nestling into the material, as if it were a soft blanket on a cold winters night. 

Seeing Arthur so close made his clothing look worse than before: tiny holes around the collar of his shirt, larges tears along his sleeves with bruises to match and more blood then she could even imagine.

Remembering her sewing kit, Miss Grimshaw smiled again and cleared her throat, "Arthur," She said sweetly. "I'm going to make you some new clothes, would you like that?"

Arthur looked up at her with shock in his tear sparkling eyes and nodded, as he let go of her and continued to cuddle his plush. Hurrying to her material chest, Miss Grimshaw pulled dozens of pieces of material like: buttons, and thread along with a piece of rope with multiple black lines dashed on it. Without saying a word, she began measuring his arms, legs, stomach and waist while mumbling numbers to herself. 

Arthur remained perfectly still, as Miss Grimshaw began her little project with her cheeks burning bright and humming a sweet melody. She sat in a wooden chair inches from the steaming bath with one leg on top of the other, as she began sewing pieces of material together. Staring in awe, Arthur sat down in front of her watching her work with his mouth ajar. 

Her voice was sweet and smooth as fresh honey and captivated him, as he continued to watch her work. She worked quickly with little words and what felt like mere minutes she had finished a blue shirt and pants with yellow buttons. 

As she presented them to Arthur, he tilted his head which made her giggle, "These are for you. You can put them on after your bath, okay?"

Forming a smile, Arthur nodded and let out a excited squeal, as she folded them and set them aside. Rolling up her sleeve, Miss Grimshaw dipped her fingers into the bath and let out a satisfied, "Ahh" as she backed up and wiped her hand on her petticoat. 

"Your bath is ready," She confessed as she rose from her chair and knelt down again. "Let's get you cleaned young man."

Quickly getting him ready for his bath, Miss Grimshaw made it fast to get Arthur into the warm water and started to scrub. Layers of dirt were attacted to the boy and little clumps of mud were stuck in his hair. The once clear water was changing into a heavy brown, as Arthur got cleaner.

Arthur smiled continuously, as he rubbed his eyes and played with the bubbles. The mud revealed the boys skin and Miss Grimshaw was not happy with what she could see; bruises, cuts and burn marks scattered across his body. Trying to keep her smile, so she wouldn't worry Arthur, she let out a fake chuckle, as she tried to hurry the bath.

Suddenly, Arthur leans over the edge of the bath and tries to reach for his plush, but it was out of his reach. A whimper of struggle escapes Arthur, as Miss Grimshaw puts a hand on his chest trying to stop him from falling out of the bath. 

"What are you doing, you silly boy?" She giggled, as she leaned forward to see what the boy was trying to reach. "Oh, you want your toy."

Keeping one hand on Arthur, she grabbed the stained plush and looked at it closer. Some much blood on such a tiny toy all dried up and stuck together sent a shiver down her spine. Grabbing the sponge, she began scrubbing the blood away.

"No!" Arthur shrieked, as he reached out for his toy. "That's mama's! Don't make mama go away!"


	7. Tattle tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for taking so long :'(   
> I've been very busy, but I hope you'll still enjoy this chapter. Enjoy.

With a pout on his lip and anger in his fury fueled stride, Micah Bell was not in the mood for anyone who dared to speak to him.  
Micah let out a huff, as he paced around camp with his gun trembling in his tighten grip almost daring someone to piss him off. He was growling every curse word under the sun, as he plotted to himself with his cheeks burnt red.

"That old hag!" He barked, as he kicked the damp dirt beneath him causing s slow dirt cloud. "Who the hell does she think she is?" 

No one talked to Micah Bell like that he was a man...a fourteen year old man, but still a man. 

"If I ran this place," He said to no one. "I'd shoot that bitch in those saggy tits of hers without even flinching." 

He scratched his nose and picked out a piece of "green gold", and inspected it before flicking it away into the grass. Puffing out his chest, Micah began forming a plan in his brilliant mind. He was Dutch's boy, no one said it out loud, but everyone knew it. He was Dutch's prodigy, his shining star who would soar across the western sky. Of course, Micah couldn't ride a horse, open a safe without help, shoot a gun straight, or handle his temper, but he was clearly Dutch's favourite. Arthur's small face suddenly came to Micah's mind and a shiver of disgust crawled down his spine. That kid was so creepy to Micah like those glass dolls old hags had in their homes when no one loved them anymore. 

"No one should have eyes that blue," He complained, as he picked at his nose again. "It's not natural, nope not natural at all."

As his eyes met the dirt a sly grin fell upon his wicked face. A cruel trick had entered his mind, but he needed to be sure the coast was clear. Looking to his right...no one, and to his left...not a soul in sight. Letting out a evil chuckle, Micah kneeled down on both knees and dug his fingers into the moist earth, and his hands filled with dirt smeared it across his soiled brow. Smudging his face, Micah moved onto his shirt and ruined that too still with a grin on his face.

"Ohh Dutch, you know I'd hate to tattle," His tone went higher than usual, as he whispered his lines. "But, Miss Grimshaw attacked me...oh it was horrible, I just wanted to help her, but she attacked me like a wild cougar."

Micah had to cover his mouth to silence his snickering, as he finished his dirt bath and scrambled to his feet. Shaking off the excess mud, Micah left his shotgun in the dirt, as he forced himself to pant and breathe faster and faster, as he ran to Dutch's tent.

"D-Dutch, Dutch!"

The tent that which held their leader was more than a rock skip away, but micah gasped so much he nearly fainted from hyperventilating. 

Dutch's tent entrance was covered with a privacy tarp, but the sweet classical music slipped through the seams of the tent, as Micah charged at full sprint. Calling out again, Dutch's music suddenly came to a halting screech like a fork on a chalk board; which made Micah freeze inches from the now silent tent. 

"I-I need help, Dutch!" Micah called, not getting any closer to the tent. "I n-need to talk to you!."

Suddenly, a heavily ring covered hand flew through the drapes just brushing by Micah's nose and peeled them back to reveal a tired looking Dutch. His eyes were red, the bags under his eyes looked heavier than before, and his eyebrows were arched down in a visious scowl.

"What...do you want-" Dutch growled through his teeth, as he hung onto the drapes tightly. "Micah, I've had a long night and the sound of your voice isn't what I need right now."

Micah's heart started to pound in his chest like a war drum, as Dutch stared him down like a scolded dog. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing understandable came out; which only turned the boy's face red. Dutch had bearly hit his prime, yet he still towered over everyone in camp, and that stare of his couldn't being the bravest to their knees. 

"You got something to say, son?" Dutch moaned, as he rubbed the corners of his tired eyes. "Or are you just wastin' my time?"

"M-Miss Grimshaw!" He stuttered aimlessly.

"What....about her?"

"You wouldn't believe it, Dutch, but Miss Grimshaw attacked me!"

"Then you clearly deserved it, Micah," Dutch grumbled, leaning against the beam that held up his tent. "You never poke a sleeping bear, son."

"B-but Dutch...I...I didn't do nothin'. She attacked me-ME!"

Holding his hand up to silence Micah, Dutch pulled out a fresh cigar, lit it and inhaled in deeply, "Miss Grimshaw has her reasons for things, boy. She wouldn't attack you for no reason, now what did you do to eat dirt?"

Micah's mind raced with Dutch's harsh response. His eyes shifted side to side along the ground while he twiddle with his thumbs.

"You have three seconds, Micah."

"MISS GRIMSHAW HAS A KID!"

Birds screamed and flew from their branches as if a gunshot had startled them, as Micah's voice echoed through the camp. Dutch groaned in annoyance, as he attacted his hand to his forehead with a loud smack.

A pulsing vein could be seen about to burst on Dutch's forehead which worried Micah slightly.

"I had to tell you, Dutch," Micah suddenly whispered, cupping his hands around his mouth. "She's been hiding him. She's been hiding him from you...I...I think she might be using that kid to betray you."

Suddenly, Dutch lifted his hand and started laughing. His hearty laugh made the ground shake with a heavy rumble. Micah tilted his head and let out a 'huh'.

Almost choking on his cigar, Dutch threw his arm around Micah's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "Micah, my boy!" He exclaimed, as he ushered the boy to walk beside him. "You may be clever, but you're not smart. Come on we need to talk."

Micah's eyes widen in shock, as he dragged his muddy boots through the dirt while keeping an eye on Dutch's rings. The pair walked side by side till they were a few feet away from camp through the trees and bushes. Dutch blew smoke into the air in silence, as Micah breathed heavily.

"So, did you roll in the dirt, or have you always had dirt under your nails?" Dutch questioned, looking down at the boy's mud stained hands.

Micah jumped slightly at his adoptive father's intimidating tone, but quickly moaned, "No, she attacked me...visiously! B-because I saw the kid!"

"The kid?"

"Yeah, real ugly lookin' thing. Bug eyes, gremlin body with little possum arms. Real nasty lookin."

"Oh my," Dutch mumbled with sarcasm. "How horrible."

"I was bein' nice and all then she tossed me to the ground. She's lucky I didn't shoot her and that little bastard."

"That bastard is your little brother, Micah."

Micah's heart fell down to his asshole, as his feet stopped dead in their tracks making Dutch release his shoulder. His chest deflated and his face was filled with terror: his eyes trembled and his mouth was left ajar, as he stared at Dutch.

Dutch smiled at Micah's response, as he continued to enjoy his cigar and enjoy the bright colours in the early morning sky. Suddenly, Micah began shaking his head in protest slowly.

"N-n-no," He whispered, as he brought his trembling hands to his head. "Dutch you're jokin' right?"

Dutch started laughing while holding his cigar to his lips, but didn't respond. With his heart racing, Micah began pacing back and fourth while muttering to himself that Dutch was just joking.

"You're jokin', you're drunk, y-you said you were tired...you're not thinkin straight."

"No joking, Micah," Dutch chuckled, as he took the cigar from his mouth. "The boy's name is Arthur, Arthur Morgan. Hosea and I found him at the Morgan ranch, the boy's mother was slaughtered by his poor excuse of a father."

"Then take him to the orphanage! The nuns will love 'em!" Micah shrieked, throwing his hands up. "He doesn't belong here!"

Without warning, Dutch grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him close, "Don't you bark orders at me, son. That's one fight you won't win."

"I-it's not right, Dutch," Micah claimed. "We're a gang not a orphanage."

"We!" Dutch scolded, giving Micah a quick shake. "Are a family, Micah. We take care of one another that's what we do."

"But, that care has to be earned!"

"I've saved your ass more times than you could count and I'm pretty damn sure you didn't earn it!"

With a growl, Micah pushed Dutch back and dusted off his wrinkled shirt, and started backing away. Turning his back, Micah began walking back to camp, but not even ten feet away he called out in a whimper.

"I'm your son, Dutch....remember that, Dutch van der linde, I'm your only son."


	8. Hot Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah's a jerk....enough said.

As clean as a whistle, and as cheery as a cherry, Arthur looked like a proper gent much better than he did before. His chubby cheeks had a shimmering glow along with his smile and his hair was combed back with a little curl dangling in the front. His new clothes fit him like a glove and he would have proudly strutted around camp, but he was the smallest thing there and nothing was gonna pry him off Mrs. Grimshaw's skirt. Where ever she went, Arthur was close to follow with a worried little waddle like a lost duckling. He held onto his plush horse till his knuckles turned white while he clinged onto Mrs. Grimshaw's skirt.

With a beaming smile that shined brighter than the sun, Mrs. Grimshaw slowed down her prideful stride for a more graceful glide like a leaf on the water. Arthur eyeballed anyone that passed, as if they were ten feet tall and had two heads; the surprised look on his face spoke a thousand words. His eyes were the size of dinner plates they carried that sweet look of innocence, yet so much terror and despair.

"Good morning, Mrs. Grimshaw," Mr. Pearson greeted, as he stirred his metal spoon in his witch like cauldron. "How are you this morning?"

"Quite fine, Mr. Pearson," She answered generically, as she folded her hands together and held them in front of herself. "It's a lovely morning."

Mr. Pearson tilted his head, pulled the spoon out of its warm, clumpy soup and waved it around, "You're acting...strange, Miss. Are you feelin' alright?"

Leaning back to miss the flying slop, Mrs. Grimshaw grunted, "Mr. Pearson, you put that spoon back in the stew before I shove it somewhere not too pleasant."

Quick, as a bunny being chased, Mr. Pearson dropped his spoon and his gaze fell from grace. 

"Talk to you later, Mr. Pearson," She huffed, as she turned heel with Arthur in tow.

Mr. Pearson's eyes widen at the new attachment to the fine lady's skirt, but when Arthur waved goodbye all he could manage was to wave right back. 

"That was Mr. Pearson," She told Arthur with a silky tone. "When he's not being...silly he's the camp cook."

Arthur nodded to her words, as if they were a melody and looked up at her with a open mouth and eyes full of wonder. She covered her lips to silence her giggle, but her laughter was paused by a sinful hiss of a venomous snake.

"Mr. Bell."

With a fang showing grin, Micah approached her with his hands wrapped his holsters. Arthur stared at Micah, as if he were the devil himself and Micah glared at him. Following Micah's eyes, Mrs. Grimshaw grabbed her skirt as a shield to cover the small child, before Micah started to chuckle.

"Don't bother, Mrs. Grimshaw, I ain't gonna hurt the boy." Micah laughed, as his fingers danced over his revolver. "Dutch wants me to walk with the boy, so hand him over."

"I beg your pardon?"

Sighing loudly, Micah crossed his arms, "Dutch's orders, you old hag. You want me to tell Dutch, you denied his orders?"

"Where will you be taking him?"

Micah groaned, as he rubbed his sweaty brow, "What are you his mother? I'll just take him around camp and bring him right back, okay?"

Biting the corner of her lip, she looked down at Arthur who looked as confused, as a lost puppy. With a smile she patted the boy's head gently.

"It's alright, Arthur," She assured, as she glared at Micah who still wore a grin. "If he tries anything it will be his last mistake."

Micah shrugged, as he snorted, "If I wanted him dead, Mrs. Grimshaw....he'd already be dead."

Before Micah could spit out a chuckle, with the claws of a tiger, Mrs. Grimshaw grabbed him by the throat and pulled him in close, "Now, you listen to me you sick little bastard!" She spat, tightening her grip, as he squirmed. "I've done in men three times your size, so don't try anything with me, Mr. Bell."

"I love you when you're angry Mrs. Grimshaw," He groaned, as he placed his hands around her's. "Gets me all hot...and bothered."

Rolling her eyes, she pushed the pig back and let out a moan of disgust, "Keep your sins to yourself, little boy and do as your told."

"Whatever you say...Susan."

"That's Mrs. Grimshaw to you!"

Micah just smiled, as he got down on his knees and held out his mud covered hand to Arthur, "How's it going cowboy?"

Arthur stared at the strange man for a moment looking him up and down and stopped at his revolver. Arthur wasn't new to guns, he had known them his entire young life from his Father and so on, but he hated the loud bang. That noise made his stomach turn and his ears ring, he'd hide with his Mother whenever his Father grabbed his gun. It was never a fun time.

Micah looked down at what the boy was staring at and chuckled before removing his gun from the holster, "You like this? This is my gun; ain't it shiny?"

Holding it up into the sunlight the gun did shine, but Arthur jumped and covered his ears due to his habit. 

"Put that darn thing away!" Mrs. Grimshaw ordered, swatting the gun away with her hands. "That's not a toy!" 

Micah was quick to his feet, "Don't you have some clothes to wash?"

With an open hand, Miss Grimshaw smacked him across the mouth sending him stumbling to his side, "Do your own damn laundry, you dirty boy!" She spat, as she stormed off leaving Arthur behind.

As Mrs. Grimshaw's skirt left his fingers, Arthur froze in place with his gaze meeting the ground. Micah chuckled deeply, before he got down on one knee and jabbed at Arthur's stomach, "Get used to it kid, people are gonna leave you behind your whole life."

Arthur's chest inflated and deflated rapidly as Micah spoke and his hands began to shake.

"Yeah cowboy, their gonna leave you behind and they'll never come back."

With a soft whimper, Arthur's eyes began to water.

"But!" Micah boasted, as he grabbed Arthur's chin and forced eye contact. "If you do everything that big brother Micah tells you...you'll be just fine. Got it...cowboy?"

Wiping his teary eyes with his sleeves, Arthur nodded in agreement.

With a snake like grip, Micah grabbed Arthur's wrist and yanked the boy till he began to walk, "Now, we're gonna take a little walk around camp, but don't say nothin'."

Arthur nodded, as he was dragged away by his new big brother. 

* * *

Dutch tossed in his bed unable to get comfortable; not that you could get comfortable, but with your mind racing no one could sleep. His eyelids twitch mercilessly, as his eyes burned with exhaustion. He rubbed his tired face with his hands and let out a heavy sigh.

"Lord, please let me sleep," Dutch begged in a grumbled tone. "I have a new baby, please let me sleep."

His hands fell to his side with a cushioned thud, as he forced his eyes shut. Dutch's body was ready to sleep, yet his mind was running miles in a neverending race. Trying to keep his eyes shut, Dutch placed his hat over his face to block out the bright sun. He laid there in silence trying to get a little sleep just a little bit, yet his eyes didn't want to stay closed.

A loud growl came from the leader, as he removed his hat and sat up, cupping his face, "Dammit!" He cursed loudly. "I haven't slept in days...what is going on?"

"Dutch!" Hosea's voice came through Dutch's tent like a ray of sunshine. "Want some company old friend?"

"Always Hosea."

Both men chuckled at one another, as Hosea entered the tent with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

"I'd thought you'd like a drink," Hosea said, as he showed Dutch the bottle. "It's the good stuff."

"You guessed right," Dutch laughed, as he was quick to open the bottle and started to pour. "I need a drink."

With his back and knees cracking, Hosea took a seat next to Dutch, "You look tired, Dutch."

"I'm always tired," Dutch mumbled, as he swirled his drink around. "Have you...have you seen the boy?"

Hosea shook his head, "Not since Susan took him, but I'm sure he's fine."

"Have I made a mistake, Hosea?"

Hosea jumped slightly at the question and looked at Dutch to see if he was joking, yet the guilty look in Dutch's sunken eyes showed Hosea he wasn't. The older man scratched his chin and pondered with his glass in his hand.

"I'd never doubt you Dutch, you know I always have your back," Hosea said, as he put a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "You...I...I'm not a religious man...I'm far from it, but...I believe this boy is here for a reason. Someone up there wanted you to have him and now, you have him."

"Amen to that brother," Dutch sighed happily, as he sat up straight and adjusted his crocked hat. "Now, what should we toast to?"

The two men raised their glasses and looked at one another.

"How about," Hosea started. "To family and...to a brand new baby boy."

"To family," Dutch cackled, as the clicked glasses and chugged their whiskey away. "Good Lord that's good."

"We'll be alright, Dutch," Hosea said , as he kept his hand on Dutch's shoulder. "As long as we stay together...we'll be alright."

"Thank you, Hosea."

* * *

Arthur could feel his wrist begin to burn, as Micah continued to drag him around like a work horse. For once Micah was completely silent, as he walked around with Arthur in tow. Micah took Arthur through most of the camp recieving strange glares from the other members most of them at him till they spotted Arthur.

"Didn't know you could have kids, Micah," One said.

"Finally found the right hole, Micah?" Another laughed.

Micah ignored them all without a word till he spotted the empty tent with a burning fire in front of it. Someone had gone hunting and left their fire burning which made Micah smile.

"This way," Micah ordered, as he pulled Arthur harder causing the boy to quicken his pace. "Hurry up."

Looking around aimlessly, Micah's smile only got bigger when no peeking eyes were in sight. Inches away from the burning flame, Micah released his tight grip and kneeled down in front of Arthur.

"Give me the toy," Micah suddenly said, holding his hand out. "You hearin' me, boy?"

Arthur looked at Micah's hand, hugged his horse tightly and shook his head no, "Mine."

Micah's smile vanished, "Give it to me," His 'friendly' tone wasn't sounding so friendly anymore.

"No," Arthur whined, as he took a step back. "

"Now, cowboy," Micah growled bearing teeth, as he did his best to keep his voice low. "Or else, I'll tell Dutch and you'll be in so much trouble."

Arthur went quiet, yet his angry glare spoke a thousand words.

"If you make Dutch mad, kid there will be Hell to pay and you'll be tossed out like a piece of trash."

Arthur's eyes widen and his face went pale, as his hands trembled. Micah snapped his fingers and continued to encourage Arthur to hand over his most prized possession.

"I'll give you to the count of three," Micah threatened, as he moved in closer. "1...."

Arthur's mouth opened and his lower lip trembled.

"2..."

Letting out a cry, Arthur tossed his plush horse at Micah, who chuckled and stood up gripping the toy tightly, "Good job, kid, now here's a quick lesson from big brother."

Without a warning, Micah who made directed eye contact tossed Arthur's precious horse into the fire where it ignited like paper and turned into a dark cloud of smoke, as it crackled and popped in the flames. The horse's mane was gone in a matter of seconds, as its plush fur lit up like it was nothing.

Of course Arthur screamed at the top of his little lungs, as tears spilled from his terror filled eyes, but what he screamed out was disturbing.

"Mama! Mama!"

Micah looked around before he growled, "You listen to me and you listen good. Cross me again or get in my way, you'll be the one burning."

The sound of heavy boots crushing leaves and grass caught Micah's attention. Quickly falling to his knees, Micah forced Arthur into a unwanted bear hug and placed his hand behind Arthur's head, as if he were comforting him.

"God, Arthur why would you do that!" Micah purposely yelled, as Arthur continued to sob loudly.

"What happened!" Dutch cried out, as he and Hosea ran at full sprint towards them with worried expressions. "Micah, what's going on!"

Micah attempted to pick, Arthur up, yet the boy wiggled too much for him to get a good grip, "He put his hands in the fire, Dutch!" Micah lied, as he tried to keep a hold of Arthur. "I turned my back for one second and...he just started screaming."

Everyone watched in shock, as Dutch was quick to pick the sobbing child up and Hosea tried to check the boy's hands. 

"Mama!" Arthur sobbed, as he choked on his tears. "Mama!"

"Shh, it's okay, Arthur," Dutch comforted, as he rubbed the boy's back. "I got ya, Dutch's got ya."

Hosea turned to Micah, "This is why you can't turn your back on a child, Micah."

Micah just shrugged while he tried to hide his smile by faking to scratch his nose.

Hosea sighed, as he turned back to Arthur who was unconsoulable by this point, sobbing till he couldn't breathe and couldn't see. Inspecting the boy's hands, Hosea saw no signs of burns or injuries which made him sigh in relief.

"I don't see any burns, Dutch," Hosea confirmed, as he placed a hand on Arthur's back. "He most likely got too close and spooked himself."

Dutch nodded, as he looked down at Arthur, "I guess that'll teach you, Arthur. You can't touch fire like that, son."

"Well, I'm glad he's okay," Micah sighed, as he wiped his brow. "I was so worried."

"You need to keep an eye on him, Micah," Dutch scolded, "He's your little brother."

"Things happen, Dutch," Micah huffed, as he let a chuckle slip. "At least he's still alive."

Dutch just let out disappointed sigh before he carried Arthur away towards his tent. Arthur buried his face in Dutch's neck, as he continued to cry relentlessly. Halfway through camp, Mrs. Grimshaw nearly ripped her dress as she bolted towards Dutch who looked at her like she was a demon on fire; terrified.

Dutch was never going to hear the end of this one.


	9. Tired & Hungry

What a horrible day, Arthur's face was red, as tears spilled from his sad eyes. Members of the gang watched in silence and surprise, as they watched their leader cradle Arthur as if he were a small babe.

Dutch had carried Arthur to his tent and held him tightly while the boy cried his heart out. Dutch whispered to him softly telling him everything was okay and that he was safe, yet Arthur continued to scream bloody murder. At least the boy had healthy lungs.

Arthur clinged to Dutch's shirt, like a nail in a board he wouldn't let go and Dutch didn't mind. He walked around aimlessly, bouncing the boy in his arms, as he hummed to the classic music playing on his phonograph trying to soothe the child.

"Mama," Arthur whimpered, as he hid his red face in Dutch's neck. "Mama."

"I know, son," Dutch comforted, as he began to slowly sway side to side. "I know it's hard now, but we'll be okay."

In between his whimpers, Arthur began to hiccup, as he rested his cheek on Dutch's shoulder. As if the boy ran out of air his loud cries turned into a soundless whimpers. With every hiccup, Arthur's body trembled and shaked. Hearing the hiccups, Dutch patted the boy's back softly with his ring covered hand.

"Calm down, son," Dutch said, as he squeezed Arthur tightly. "Don't hurt yourself."

As, Arthur calmed down, Dutch sat down in the edge of his bed and let Arthur sit on his knee, "You're alright, son you're safe."

Arthur just leaned against Dutch's chest and played with the chains attacted to Dutch's vest. Dutch held the boy in silence, as they listened to the calming music that played. The chains jingled in the child's grasp, but that did not bother Dutch, he simple watched the red face boy calm himself within the safety in his arms. Tears fell silently from Arthur's eyes, but he didn't seem fazed, as the gold in his grasp shined in the candle light. 

Dutch was careful to take Arthur's hand into his own and inspect it. The boy's hands were as tiny as the bottom of a tea cup: small and fragile. Miss Grimshaw had done a good job cleaning the boy up not a speck of dirt could be found on that precious boy. Arthur stared at the massive hand that held his and began playing with the rings that would be bracelets to Arthur's tiny wrists.

A hearty chuckle fell out of Dutch, as he was happy to not see a single burn mark on Arthur's skin. Dutch had seen what fire could do to a man, but he was overcome with relief at his discovery. Arthur played with the smooth metal like a kitten with a ball of yarn. A sniffle wound escape his nose once in a while, but other than that he was real quiet. They sat like that for what just felt like a few minutes, Dutch had one hand holding the boy's legs to stop him from sliding off and the other the boy's shoulder to keep him close to his chest. Arthur suddenly let out a small yawn which caused a chain reaction, as Dutch let out a yawn. They sat in silence just enjoying each others company while they listened to the classic music, till someone rushed in.

"Are you boys hungry?" She asked sweetly. "We haven't seen you two all day."

"All day?" Dutch questioned, tilting his head. "What are you on about Miss Grimshaw?"

Raising her brow, Miss Grimshaw pulled back the material used as a door and revealed that it was indeed sundown and most of the gang had already eaten and was sitting by the fire. Dutch facepalmed at the situation and couldn't hide the laugh, as Miss Grimshaw bent down to Arthur.

"Are you hungry, hun?" She asked, as Arthur looked up at her. "Would you like something to eat?"

Arthur nodded.

"C'mere honey," She cooed, as she took Arthur off Dutch's knee and cradled him close. "Could you give me a smile?"

The corner of his lips twitch, but she when she started bouncing him a heavenly squeal of laughter fell out of Arthur, as he smiled. Dutch couldn't help, but smile along with the giggling boy till Miss Grimshaw carried the boy away towards Mr. Pearson.

* * *

Mr. Pearson stirred the remaining stew with uncontrollable boredom watch the chunks of deer meat spin around in the soup along with the fresh vegetables they grew in camp. With the ladle grinding against the cast iron pot like sand in someone's teeth, he had single handedly forced everyone to take cover by the fire to stop their ears from bleeding. 

Suddenly, the sound of Miss Grimshaw clearing her throat snapped him right out of his daydream. He jumped at the sound and smacked the metal ladle against the pot sending a loud ring through the camp.

"I- eck-er WORKING!" Mr. Pearson stuttered, as he blinked multiple times and spotted Miss Grimshaw and Arthur. "Oh...good evening, Miss Grimshaw."

"How much stew do you have left, Mr. Pearson?"

Not sure, Mr. Pearson stuck his head into the steaming pot with little reaction to the heat, "Uhh, enough for....three more bowls...I think."

"Could I get a bowl for the little one here?"

Mr. Pearson looked at Arthur who looked about as skinny as a twig on a diet. He huffed, "That boy is gonna need more than that. Look how skinny he is. What did his parents do starve him?"

"Mr. Pearson," She barked, as she used her chest and hand to cover Arthur's ears. "This poor thing has gone through enough, now get him some food."

"Alright, alright," Mr. Pearson grumbled, as he grabbed a bowl and started to pour. "So, how olds the kid?"

"Dutch said under five, but...were not sure," She said, as she combed her fingers through his hair. "Hosea tried to ask, but...he hasn't talked much since this morning."

Mr. Pearson nodded, "I knew a guy like that...when I was in the Navy."

"Mr. Pearson not now, please."

He shrugged and handed her the steaming pot of stew with a tiny metal spoon. In one hand she carried Arthur Morgan and in the other she held a hot bowl of soup; Mr. Pearson was almost impressed. 

Like a graceful swan, Miss Grimshaw carried Arthur to an empty log in front of the warm fire where the camp had regrouped and were sharing their stories of the day. The uproar of laughter startled Arthur out of his tired daze, as well as the heat from the fire.

"Okay, I'm gonna put you down hun," She whispered into his ear. "Don't be shy."

Just as she said she careful placed Arthur down in front of the log and tapped the log enticing, Arthur to sit down which he did. As soon as he hopped up, she handed him the stew which he held tightly between his thighs. Curiously, Arthur sniffed the stew like it was a flower and hungrily licked his lips, as she handed him, his spoon. 

His stomach growled loudly, as he picked up his first spoonful. Arthur was completely unaware that the chatter had come to a halt, as Miss Grimshaw sat down next to him while he ate. Members stared confusingly some with raised brows others with gossiping whispers. 

"Folks, let's not be rude," Hosea stated, as he sat up straight from his seat and crossed his arms. "This is Arthur Morgan few have meet him others...not so much, but he'll be staying with us from now on."

"And if anyone has a problem with that you can come talk to me," Dutch interrupted, as he appeared through the shadows of the night and stood in the fire light. "Does anyone have an issue with Arthur?"

No one said a thing.

Dutch clapped with approval, "Wonderful, now let's lighten the mood, Hosea how about a song!"

Smiles quickly returned to the members faces, as Hosea began tapping on his knee. He opened his mouth to start the tune, but quickly bit his tongue, "Oh, wait not with Arthur here that one is inappropriate."

"Ring dang doo!" One member called out, as those around him laughed.

"Don't even think about it, young man," Dutch jokingly scolded, as he wagged his finger. "Don't make me come over there."

"I put my hand upon her ass," Another member started before she broke out into uncontrollable laughter along side her friends who sat in the dirt. "Mark well I do say."

"Girls!" Miss Grimshaw barked, trying to hide her giggle. "Shush...I raised you better."

Of course, Arthur was far too busy stuffing his face to really pay mind to what everyone was saying, as Dutch took a seat next to Arthur. 

" I think this is the first time anyone has eaten Mr. Pearson's food without complaining once," Hosea chuckled, as he lit himself a cigarette and held it between his lips.

The gang laughed together till they heard Mr. Pearson cursing in the distance which only made them laugh more. 

Suddenly, the stories picked up again from the pocket picking from that morning to the train robbers. When Arthur finished he let out a tiny belch that no one heard, as he used his hand to wipe his mouth. He placed his bowl on the ground, but when he sat back up me made eye contact with a snake. Micah Bell was staring him down with a sickening grin and waved at him with a chuckle.

Arthur stuck out his tongue quickly before he scooted closer to Dutch and grabbed onto his arm. But, Micah just chuckled and turned to Dutch, "You got a leech on your arm there Dutch. Might want to pull that thing off before he sucks you dry."

Arthur looked up at Dutch who just smiled and ruffled his hair before he turned back to Micah, "Don't be jealous of Arthur, Micah...I treat you as a child anyway, so theres no need for jealousy."

Beer shot out of some poor girls nose who was sitting next to Micah which made him jump in disgust.

"What is wrong with you, you bitch!" Micah hissed, as he wiped off his jacket. "You women are all disgusting!"

"Is that why you were flirting with Jessica the other night, Micah," A girl huffed, as she helped her friend back to her tent to clean her up. "You pervert."

"Shut up, whore," Micah growled just out of earshot of Dutch and Miss Grimshaw.

Suddenly, Hosea whacked him across the stomach causing Micah to bend forward in a loud groan and a few more curses before he fell back to his seat.

"You watch your tongue, little boy!" Hosea warned, as he poked Micah's chest. "I don't wanna hear you talkin' like that, you hear me?"

"C-crystal," Micah stuttered as he sat up with one hand on his stomach. "Crystal clear."

Arthur giggled, but was interrupted by a big yawn that nearly covered his entire face. Dutch and Miss Grimshaw simultaneously let out a soft chuckle at the adorable sight, as Arthur rested his cheek against Dutch's arm.

Arthur's eyes grew heavy, as he watched the dancing flame before him. The warmth from the fire made it harder and harder for Arthur to stay awake; it was so calming having two people by his side keeping him warm and safe. He was so tired, Arthur could feel himself about to topple over into Dutch's lap. It had been such a long few days, Arthur couldn't even remember the last time he slept.

Before Arthur could doze off, he felt himself being picked up and carried away from the fire. Arthur could smell Miss Grimshaw's perfume, so he nestled into her neck and slowly found himself falling asleep in her arms.

Miss Grimshaw smiled not only that she was carrying a small babe, but that she could tease him about it years down the road. Oh, the fun she would have.

"What a wonderful world," She whispered, as she carried the boy to her tent where she had already set up a small, temporary bed for him.

Upon entering the tent, Arthur was out like a candle in the wind. Supporting his neck, Miss Grimshaw quietly put the boy down and covered him with a blanket she had made a few nights before. He may have been small, but he was hers, a treasure she didn't know she wanted till she first saw his beautiful blue eyes.

Not feeling tired herself, Miss Grimshaw took up a chair by her candlelight and began to sew. She pondered for a moment of what to make, but with winter not too far away her decision was made easy.

A scarf. A black scarf.

* * *

"He needs a few days Micah," Dutch insisted, as other members slowly returned to their tents for the night. "Let him build up his strength, then I'll think about it."

"Think about it, Dutch," Micah grumbled, as he gestured with his hands. "What's better bonding than a little breaking and entering?"

"He's too young, Micah," Hosea added. "He's not old enough for any big jobs yet."

"What are you talkin' about, old man?" Micah groaned, as he glared at Hosea. "You had me doing jobs on my second day of being here."

"You're older than him, son," Dutch reminded him, as Hosea nodded. "Give him time to grow, you gotta give him time."

Micah threw his hands up, "What if I just take him down to that farmer's house near town and grab a couple chicken eggs?"

Dutch raised a brow, as Hosea sighed, "Micah, do you hear us when we speak?"

"Now hold on, Hosea," Dutch interrupted, as he held his hand up. "He might be on to something."

"Dutch, don't encourage him."

"Think about it...it's not a difficult job," Dutch confirmed, as Hosea gave him a look like he was an idiot. "Now, don't look at me like that. It's a good plan."

Hosea rolled his eyes, "The boy's not even five, you haven't given his mind any time to understand what's happening here."

"Well, he's gotta pull his weight somehow, old man," Micah teased, as he scratched his nose. "Everyone else does why does he get treated differently?"

"He's just a baby!" Hosea suddenly snapped. "And he can barely talk!"

"Easy, Hosea," Dutch whispered, as he grabbed his friend's arm. "Take it easy there it's alright."

Micah scoffed in annoyance, as he got up from his seat and made a quick retreat for his tent, "I'm not feeding a leech, Dutch."

"Give him time, Micah," Dutch repeated without looking at the boy. "I'm working on a plan for the boy, you just need to have faith."


	10. The Night Is Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long my life has been a little silly, but I'm back and I'll be sure to update and post more often.
> 
> I do hope you enjoy and I love hearing from you guys.

The wind whistled through the trees that night which created a deadly howl that echoed loudly. Any grown man could easily tell what the sound was, but to a small child...death was coming.

The gang was resting in peace. With the moon giving off an entrancing glow along the water's edge it was like a fairytale. The little light bugs may not of had music, but they shared their dance with one another like lovers in the night, as almost everyone slept soundly.

* * *  
Before she put herself to bed, Miss Grimshaw had finished the scarf for Arthur and held it up to admire her work. It was the perfect length and soft as a lamb. With her tired hands, she folded the scarf and carefully placed it on her nightstand far from the candlestick that was almost completely melted. She softly hummed to herself quietly, as she stood up from her wooden chair and looked down at Arthur. With a tender smile, she gentle patted his head and brushed his fluffy hair. 

"What a sweet boy," She told herself, as she watched the young boy sleep. "Sweet dreams, sweet boy."

If only she knew what terror that boy was facing in his mind.

* * *

Dutch's eyes were bloodshot and had the burning sensation of salt in a fresh wound. He laid there on his cot staring at his sheet ceiling with his hands laced across his tired face. Everytime he'd close his eyes they would fly right open like a horse chewing on hay. He just couldn't fall asleep. 

With a stretch and a crack to his weary spine, Dutch got up from his cot and lit a brand new cigar. He silently puffed his cigar and slowly paced back and fourth with one hand tucked behind his back. Arthur's cries rung in his head like a skipping record; it was trapped in his mind. The look of utter suffering on the young boy's face would haunt Dutch's nightmares; if he could get any sleep. He was taking in more cigar smoke than he realized till he was chewing on almost nothing. 

With a grunt of annoyance, he tossed the butt out of his tent and rubbed his eyes hoping it would cease the burning pain. 

"Mama! Mama!" Arthur's voice bounced around in his mind non stop. "Mama! Mama!" 

With a painful moan, Dutch rubbed the sides of his temple, trying to stop the slow coming headache that was crawling into his fast working brain. A cold breeze passed through his tent, as the horrible image of Beatrice's beaten corpse entered his mind making him jump.

Thinking quickly, Dutch turned to his gramophone and cranked the handle till the sweet classical music started to play. Just like a conductor, Dutch moved his hands to the beat and tapped his foot to silence the foul imagery polluting his thoughts and plans. Even with the music playing Dutch could still hear Arthur crying and it made his stomach turn. 

Feeling nauseous, Dutch turned to the tent entrance and threw open the flaps to breath in some clean country air; only to find out he wasn't the only one still awake. Just inches from his nose was Hosea who looked just as tired as he did, but had another bottle and two glasses dangling in his mitts.

Dutch let out a humorous scoff at the sight of his old friend, as Hosea responded with a hearty chuckled.

"What's on the drink menu this evening, Hosea?" Dutch jokingly asked.

Hosea handed Dutch the bottle, "It's strong, that's all that matters...if you want the company?"

Without a word, Dutch stepped out of the way and held the flap open allowing Hosea to enter. Hosea did not hesitate to start pouring drinks, as Dutch closed the flap and crossed his arms.

"Now, Mr. Matthews...I know my excuse for being up so late. Pray tell what is yours?"

Hosea just chuckled awkwardly, as he downed his drink before handing Dutch his own, "Ahh, nothing too interesting. J-just not tired yet."

Dutch rolled his eyes and took a light sip, "I know that laugh, Hosea. What's bothering you, friend?"

Hosea brushed it off as nothing and poured himself another tall drink, "Same shit, different bucket, Dutch."

"Amen to that," Dutch huffed, as he took another sip. "This stuff is good. What did you bring me this time?"

"M-moonshine," Hosea stuttered, as the bottle began to shake in his fist, as he chugged another shot. "It...burns real bad if you don't drink it quick."

Dutch was never the one to pester if you said you were fine, you were fine, but there was a real unsettling feeling in his gut telling him; Hosea wasn't fine. Hosea's blood shot eyes were facing the floor, as he continued to feed himself more and more alcohol, while Dutch was still on his first.

"Having a hard night, Hosea?" Dutch asked quietly, as he placed his glass down and moved closer. "Your eyes are making a new shade of red."

Hearing Dutch's voice change, Hosea rubbed his eyes and spat out some nonsense about getting old and grumpy which made Dutch laugh. Dutch carefully examined his friend: his eyes were sunken in, his face was a sickly looking white and one corner of his bottom lip was completely peeled, as he chewed on it. 

"Then you are in the wrong business, Mr. Matthews," Dutch teased tapping Hosea's shoulder. "Outlaws can't be growing old, but I guess I'll have to take you out back and-"

"I had a dream about her, Dutch," Hosea interrupted, nearly dropping the bottle. "I saw my Bessie."

Fearing Hosea would hurt himself, Dutch carefully removed the glass and bottle from his friend's tight grasp, and helped him to sit on the edge of his cot. The two sat in silence, Dutch looked at Hosea while Hosea cupped his face in his shaking hands. As calmly as he could manage, Dutch wrapped his arm around Hosea's shoulder which shuddered upon his touch.

"No matter...how much I d-drink, or how drunk I g-get," Hosea mumbled, as he shook his head. "I can still see her...plain as day and I can almost t-touch her."

Dutch just nodded, letting Hosea speak without any interruptions.

Letting out a sigh, Hosea let his hands fall upon his lap with a smack, as he looked up sending a single tear down his cheek. Dutch knew how much Hosea loved Bessie and Hosea knew how much he loved Annabelle; it was one thing they didn't need to tell each other they just knew. 

Hosea made a fast attempt to wipe away his tear, but after one disappeared another took that ones place. Dutch knew Hosea wasn't the crying type unless he was really hurting or really drunk, but he knew it wasn't the liquor talking. 

"I'm an idiot," Hosea mumbled, as he pressed his hands against his eyes. "F-for crying, but....it hurts."

"I know it hurts, Hosea," Dutch whispered softly, as he gave Hosea's shoulder a tender squeeze. "But, don't call yourself an idiot...I'm the idiot not you, remember?"

With a sniffle, Hosea rested his head against Dutch's and closed his eyes, as a few more tears fell from his eyes. 

Suddenly, Dutch released Hosea's shoulder and stood up, gesturing to himself, "I mean look at me, Hosea. I'm a wanted man, Dutch van der linde the most wanted man in this damned country and I'm taking in kids like a lonely nun."

Dutch kept his back to Hosea, as he threw his arms around dramatically, "I must have hit my head or something because who in their right mind would be so idiotic. There's a heavy price on my head and...I'm putting these children in danger...all because, dammit."

Tears built up in Dutch's eyes, as he forced out a chuckle and dropped his hands to his sides, "Look at me...the boy who grew up without a daddy and tries to be one. How pathetic."

The sound of his cot squeaking in protest made the first tear slip out, as he felt Hosea touch his shoulder. Without a word, Dutch turned to Hosea who surprisingly had a weak smile and lingering tears scrolling down his cheeks. Looking at one another, both men broke out into sudden laughter at the sight of one another and embraced each other.

"We may be idiots, Dutch. But, we're idiots together."

Dutch just laughed, as he hugged his best friend and shed his tears. They held one another tightly refusing to let go of the other till there wasn't a tear in sight. 

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Hosea."

* * *

With the deadly cold breeze passing through, Arthur shifted in his bed slowly trapping himself in his blanket like a mouse being attacked by a snake. His once sweet dreams quickly changed into his own personal Hell. With his body twitching, Arthur whimpered and mumbled in his sleep.

In a distant blur, Arthur was looking up at a cloud less blue sky, birds chirped sweetly, as the flew past him like blobs of black paint. Laying down on his back, Arthur felt the cool grass rubbing against his skin, as he moved his arms and legs around. As everything slowly came into focus, Arthur found himself sitting up and looking over his shoulder. It was an odd sensation; it was his body, yet he held no control. Looking off in the distant a lady in a flowing white dress caught his eye. Without a word, Arthur stood up with the legs of a new born fawn and stumbled towards the strange lady. Spotting her beautiful brown hair that swayed in the wind, the lady had her back turned to him, but he approached her.

In the back of his head, he heard an odd thumping sound it wasn't loud, but he felt the pounding in his chest; like a cannon going off. His eyes wouldn't look away from her, she was so captivating like an angel from above. Walking through the tall grass, Arthur felt like he were dragging his feet through thick mud. He'd feel himself getting slower and slower with every step, but something in his mind told him, he needed to get closer. 

With every step, the pounding got louder and his stomach began to turn. 

"E-excuse me," Arthur whispered, as loud as he could. "Miss?"

As if someone forced a sock down his throat, Arthur couldn't squeak louder than a mouse and with the lady so far away, she surely couldn't hear him. Itching at his throat, Arthur tried to call out.

"Miss," He grumbled, as he slowly lifted his hand to the sky. "Pardon me...Miss."

Unable to move any faster, Arthur found himself stopping dead in his tracks and just staring at the lady, who was somehow getting more distant without moving. Before he could call out again, the echoed sound of a horse in distress caught Arthur's attention and he quickly turned around.

To his horror, a horrible beast made of white fire and burning steel was charging straight at him. It was a horse. It's mane was a burning blaze, it's flesh was peeling back exposing the bones and its eyes held a soulless shade of black that burned with the rage of the sun. Arthur opened his mouth to scream in pure terror, yet nothing came out but a whimper. Demanding to get away, Arthur turned around and picked up his feet yet they had the speed of a snail stuck in glue, yet the horse galloped with a purpose and left nothing but ash, as it ran through the grass. 

"Help," Arthur whispered, as he turned to the lady. "Help me."

The horse was fast approaching and was heading straight for him, but Arthur wasn't going anywhere fast. He pulled at his legs to free himself from the invisible force that was holding him down, but he was stuck. The pounding in his head shook his brain, his vision was going in and out of focus leaving him dizzy and confused. 

An ear piercing whinny came from the burning horse, as it trampled and set the lush green grass ablaze. Tears spilled from Arthur's trembling eyes, as he kept calling out relentlessly.

"Miss help me, help," He cried, as he watched the horse charge towards him. "Please help."

Every inch of that horse was on fire and Arthur could feel the hot breath coming from the horse. Suddenly, a ice cold hand grabbed his arm and like pulling a boot out of mud yanked him back and out of the way. Without even looking, the horse passed him with a hot cloud of stream covering Arthur with ash and sweat. He gasped and tried to catch his breath till the hand left his arm and crawled up his back sending a cold shiver down his spine. The hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. What he saw...what he witnessed...it was all too real.

Her face was the colour of a wrinkled, leather grey covered in deep cuts and black and blue bruises. Her neck resembled a puppet; it was hanging on by a few strings of veins and nerve tissue. More like a porcelain doll whose face got crushed under a boot, the lady was a walking corpse. The lovely dress she wore was covered in dried blood and mangled to bits with large rips and slash marks. From her broken nose and ripped flesh it was her eyes that frightened Arthur the most.

Her pupils were as big as dinner plates staring frighteningly down at him as the shivered and shaked. They were a hauntingly dull blue with little to no life, yet they held such terror. She opened her mouth slightly separating her dry, cracked lips and small streams of blood poured out from her mouth as she shrieked.

"What did your Father tell you!" She shook Arthur's shoulders, as he was frozen in fear. "What did your Father tell you!"

Arthur stared at her with waves of tears pouring out of him. The grip she had on him was holding Arthur perfectly still, but he was shaking like the lid on a steaming kettle.

"M-mama," He cried, as blood from her neck dripped onto his cheeks. "Mama."

She smiled which released a handful of maggots through her missing teeth, as she spoke, "You need to do as your daddy says, son. Whatever he says...you do, understand."

Arthur stood there speechless.

Moving her hand to her bruised and rotting cheek, she chuckled, "Your daddy loves me, honey he just...has a funny way of showing it, now don't you worry about a thing. He still loves me and we love you."

Her hair was missing in large patches about the size of a man's fist, but she played with the little bit of curls she had left, "You just need to do as your daddy says Arthur don't question him. He's a good man Arthur, and as long as you have food in your belly and a roof over your head, you'll be okay."

Seeing his mother in such an ungodly state, Arthur suddenly got the strength to fidget and wiggle out of her grasp which from her smile turning into a frown, she didn't look to pleased.

She screamed.

"Run Arthur run!" Blood erupted from her mouth and covered Arthur. "Don't look, baby. Run far far away! Run! Run!"

Feeling himself stumble backwards, Arthur reached out to grab his mother who was just out of his reach and cried out, "Mama."

Arthur could feeling himself plummeting into a deep, dark abyss with his mother crying out to him to run away, but from who?"

He wasn't given much time to think when he suddenly met the floor of Miss Grimshaw's tent tangled in his own blanket.

The night is long and full of terrors.


	11. Smoking Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thank you all for your patience, you guys give me so much inspiration every single day and I want to give you guys the best story I can provide.
> 
> Please enjoy :)

Arthur's heart was racing, racing like a frighten horse trying to escape his chest. He shivered and shaked, as he checked his surroundings and panted heavily. To his relief and sorrow, his mother was gone and the burning horse was no where in sight. Tangled in his blanket, as if it were a dangling hammock, Arthur tugged and pulled to break himself free while he grunted and groaned in discomfort. He had a throbbing pain on the side of his head which he gave a gentle rub, as he brought himself to his wobbly knees. 

She was there, just inches from his nose holding his arm like a bear trap, Arthur was sure it was her. What boy wouldn't know his own mother?

His arm had a sudden itch, a burning and tingling sensation that wouldn't end. Slowly getting to his feet, Arthur found himself unable to stop scratching, he nearly turned himself raw, as he dug his nails into his irritated flesh. And just like a wild animal, Arthur brought his arm to his dry mouth and started to nibble and chew himself, as if he were a dog biting it's fleas. 

From the abuse his arm was taking, Arthur's arm had been turned into a nasty shade of red, as his drool dripped down and over his bites. A small bump the size of a coin appeared on his arm, as he rubbed his arm. Every time he'd touch it a shiver went down his spine, as he was overcome by the need to scratch. 

Suddenly, a feminine moan touched his ear causing him to jump and quickly turn around. Her hair resembled a abandoned birds nest, she was laying on her stomach with one hand resting on the floor. Miss Grimshaw was one tired woman, but with her mouth left ajar, you'd think she was trying to catch flies within her mouth. Tilting his head, Arthur stared at her confused. Arthur couldn't remember his mother sleeping like that, but Arthur also couldn't remember his mother sleeping for an entire night.

Some nights, Arthur could recall his mother sneaking into his room, locking the door and falling asleep against his door. It was an odd situation, but Arthur never questioned it he liked his mother close to him. With his hands trembling, Arthur slowly dragged his feet and inched himself closer to Miss Grimshaw's bed. Her bed looked big enough for two.

Being polite, Arthur gentle poked her shoulder. No reaction. He poked her again, but a little harder. Still nothing. She was making the same noise that bull frogs made at night, so Arthur knew she wasn't dead. When poking wasn't working, Arthur placed his hand upon her shoulder and gave her a light shake.

She let out a grunt and her body shifted making her hair move away from her face revealing a horrifying sight. Arthur stumbled back and covered his mouth to silence a scream, as he gazed into her opened eyes.

Her eyes were open, yet there was nothing but a white slate. Startled, Arthur grabbed his blanket and darted out of the tent without looking back. As soon as he left the tent a cold wind pushed past him ripping the tent flap from his grasp. 

The moon was his only light source, but it created horrible silhouettes in the corner of Arthur's tired eyes. The wind howled like a pack of wolves, as Arthur wrapped the blanket around his fridged shoulders and began waddling around the camp. With the generous moonlight, Arthur was able to maneuver around the sleeping camp, yet he would stumble over empty bottles and tent poles hidden in the dark.

Just like a lost child, Arthur didn't know what to do or where to go; he just found himself walking in circles with little to no purpose. Passing the same burnt out fire pit for the fourth time, Arthur found himself getting dizzy and stopped not wanting to walk anymore till he heard the neigh of a horse. Arthur spun on his heel to face the sound to see The Count staring at him, as he stood among the other horses tied to their posts. While the other horses had their heads down resting, The Count stood there staring Arthur down while digging his front hoof into the dirt.

Seeing The Count's snow white coat reminded Arthur of his nightmare and caused him to step back, but when he did The Count whined and his ears flattened backwards. Arthur stood there and watched in fear, as the tall horse threw his head up pulling against his reins and continued to whinny, and dig up at the ground. Fearing The Count's rage, Arthur continued to back up trying to get as much distant between him and the ill-tempered horse. 

"Hey, hey, hey! Easy boy, easy!" A voice called out, as a lanterns glow emerged from the thicket. "You're okay boy, you're okay."

A man with a rifle strapped to his back approached The Count with his hands out, as he held his lantern with one hand. The Count bobbed his head and tugged on his ropes, as the man tried to comfort him.

"You're alright boy, shhh easy boy. Nothin' to be scared of."

Arthur watched, as the man freed The Count from the wooden post he was tied to and stroked his mane lightly.

"See you're alright, take a few steps and stretch your legs out." The man insisted, as he patted the Count's shoulder. "But, don't you go anywhere. Mrs. Grimshaw will have my head is she see's you walkin' around camp."

Snapping his chops, the man nearly lost his fingers, as The Count used his head to shove his unwanted guest away. With a cuss the man shook his head and walked back to the thicket till his lantern vanished into the deep bush. Arthur used his shaking hands to cover his mouth to muffle his heavy breathing, as he stared in horror while, The Count trotted closer and closer. 

The Count wasn't a tiny horse, he was strong, well built and had the temper that could match the Devil himself. Arthur was shaking like a leaf in fall. Suddenly, The Count stopped about a rock toss away took one look at Arthur, letting out a steamy huff and lowered his head to eat the dew covered grass before him.

Arthur nearly cried out in relief, as he let out a chuckle and put a hand over his fast beating heart.

"H-he was...just hungry," Arthur panted with a giggle. "That's all...He was just hungry."

"For flesh."

A gust of hot air assaulted Arthur's ear, as two overpowering hands covered in dirt gripped his tiny shoulders. Arthur yelped in surprise, but the hand covered his mouth as he was hushed.

Looking up, Arthur was instantly filled with an undying rage. Micah Bell with the same smug grin that stained his face.

"Evenin' you brat," He hissed, as he gave Arthur's shoulders a shake. "Playin' with Dutch's horse are we? Dutch wouldn't like that."

"I wasn't," Arthur mumbled, as he wiggled. "Let go, Micah."

Micah's eyes widen, "Well, shit on me and call me a slave, you can talk."

Letting out a irritated growl, Arthur began stomping on Micah's boot, but he just chuckled.

"Fiesty little bastard aren't we?" He laughed, as he quickly wrapped his arm around Arthur's neck, trapping the boy in a headlock. "It warms my heart you know." He let out a fake sniffle and pretended to wipe away a tear, "Just this morning, you was sobbing like a babe, now you-"

While Micah was rambling, Arthur was able to free his arm and force his elbow into Micah's beer belly, causing him to groan in pain and bend forward. That only made him angry and you never step on a snakes tail.

Micah's eyes lit up like a firework and his upper lip twitch, exposing his yellow stained teeth, "Oh...you think you're funny huh, brat?"

Arthur just continued to squirm, as Micah effortlessly lifted Arthur up and wrapped his arms around the boy's torso, "I've killed kids younger than you, don't you think for one second....that I wouldn't do the same to you."

Micah sounded out of breath, as he struggled to keep the wiggling child in his arms, "I've killed more men than your Mama slept with. Hit me again and I'll snap your little neck."

Arthur could feel his air being squeezed out of his body, as Micah tightened his grip, Arthur was breathing heavier almost gasping trying to get any air into his crushed lungs. Micah suddenly shivered.

"Well, ain't that a pretty noise you're makin'," Micah groaned, as he rested his forehead against the back of Arthur's head and gave the boy another tight squeeze. "Do it again."

Unable to keep his mouth shut a painful gasp was ripped from Arthur's throat, as Micah was forcing air out of his lungs. Arthur could feel Micah smile, the sensation of his lips spreading out across the skin of his neck sent an unsettling feeling straight to his gut.

"Mrs. Jean~" Micah moaned, as he gave Arthur's chest a quick press making the boy wheeze in surprise. "Ooh, you sound just like her...so scared and...troubled...Gimme another."

Without warning, Arthur tilted his head forward and threw it back into Micah's nose, as hard as he could. Their heads collided with a crunching thud, as Micah cussed out in pain and purposely threw Arthur to the ground. With no time to catch himself, Arthur landed face first into the ground covering himself in grass and mud stains. Micah wailed in pain, as he cupped his face, Arthur looked up at what he had done and saw blood seeping through Micah's closed fingers and falling to the ground. Knowing this was his chance to get away, Arthur scattered on his hands and knees to get some distance till he got to his feet. 

Nearly tripping over his feet, Arthur dashed past The Count who just continued eating his patch of grass and just kept running. Swinging his arms like a mad man, Arthur made a straight line for thicket, jumping over empty bottles and empty crates Arthur didn't stop to look back. The camp was silent till the crack and whistle of a single gunshot destroyed the peace and frightened the horses causing them to whinny and cry. The bullet flew past Arthur's ear causing the boy to collapse into the bushes and cover his ears. Tears leaked from Arthur's sealed shut eyes, as the bushes branches poked and scratched his trembling body. He wanted to scream, as the sound echoed in his ears, but Micah yelled out first.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

Another shot was fired just as loud as the first one, but it hit a tree with a horrible crack, causing Arthur to whimper and pull himself into a ball. Without opening his eyes for even a second, Arthur could tell the camp was now awake. One at a time lanterns were lighting up and the sound of rifles and pistols being loaded filled the air, as Micah continued to scream into the night.

An orchestra of different voices of annoyance and angry nearly silenced the screaming man's rambling. All the voices were muffled in Arthur's ears nothing sounded like English just a bunch of gibberish. Hiding his face in the leaves, Arthur was too scared to move, his body was on lockdown and refused to move an inch, as the voices got louder and the vibration of the horses stomping their hooves into the earth. Arthur's heart was pounding so fast he felt like a stick of dynamite on a short fuse, he choked on his tears as he tightened his grasp around his ears.

"B-blood," He whimpered softly. "Blood...everywhere, too much...too much...it's everywhere."

All the voices sounded the same, tired and confused till one voice silenced the rest.

"Now, everybody calm down! Everything is alright, just calm down!"

Hearing Dutch's voice echo with such volume nearly made Arthur jump; even with his hands over his ears, Arthur could hear Dutch perfectly without fault. From his regular calm and soothing tone, Dutch sounded mad, real mad.

"Micah Bell you put that gun down this instant, are you mad, boy?"

Arthur couldn't hear anything else but Dutch, he couldn't hear Micah, Hosea or anyone else only Dutch's stern voice. Dutch's tone sounded like an angry bear woken from his slumber. He snarled with a hint of poison on his tongue, as he scolded Micah for the scene he was making. Afraid and shaken to the core, Arthur stayed perfectly still, as the branches cut at his arms and legs.

Suddenly, Miss Grimshaw screamed in horror.

"Arthur! Where's Arthur!" 

Other than Micah and the frightened horses the camp went quiet. Still with his eyes glued shut and never moving his hands from his ears, Arthur used his feet to army crawl further into the bushes away from camp and away from Micah.

Hosea let out a long whistle which caught Arthur's attention, but he kept crawling through the leafs and dirt. The gun shot continued to echo in his head like a broken record.

"Arthur! Arthur!" Miss Grimshaw cried. "Don't just stand there, you useless drunks, find him!"

With lanterns in hand, the gang members made a mad dash in all directions some leaped to their horses and darting off while other ran in groups. People cried out his name like starving vultures, Arthur had never heard his name so much in his life. Arthur's brain was fighting with him one said was screaming in terror begging him to run for his life, yet the other told him to stand up and run to Dutch and Hosea. His legs turned to jello, so he couldn't stand, the bush was eating him alive digging and tangling in his hair, as he scrapped his knees along the dried leafs and snapped branches.

The pounding of horse hooves sounded like thunder in the distance, and the cries sounded like voices on the breeze. When their voices died down, Arthur let out a hiccup, as his hands slipped from his ears. He rested his sweaty cheek on the cold ground, listening to the thumping of the shaking dirt beneath him, as tears trickled down his face. 

That when he could feel her arms around him. Her soft and gentle touch warmed his fridged body, as he turned to his side and slowly opened his eyes. Feeling her touch run along his scratched up arms felt like a feather giving him comfort. Reaching for her hand, Arthur could hear his Mother's voice bouncing in his mind.

"Leave him alone! Leave the boy alone!"

His vision was blurred by his tears as he felt no hand, but his mother continued to speak, "It's not like that Lyle, I wouldn't do that to you darling! Lyle put the gun down!"

The gang continued to call out his name, the horses raced around him non-stop gaining little distance every few minutes. Hosea let out another whistle, as Dutch paced around camp igniting the fire pits creating as much light as possible while Micah followed him close behind still holding his gun in his hand not saying a word.

Arthur wanted to cry out, but as if someone put their hand over his mouth he couldn't speak, as he was forced to watch.

"Shoot me! Do whatever you want to do to me, but leave our son alone!"

Arthur's head was pounding like a drum and wouldn't stop all these voices all at once it was too much.

"Run, Arthur run! Don't look back! Keep running! Keep running!"

He felt so upset, Arthur swore he was going to puke and the branches that were poking him didn't feel as nice as his bed felt. Using his hands to dry his eyes, Arthur sniffled as Micah cried out.

"He's gone Dutch! The little bastard is gone, you have to move on!"

Arthur laid there silent, as he watched Micah follow a worried looking Dutch who paced like a caged tiger with his hands folded behind his back. Dutch didn't speak; he would look down than look up the entrance path, as he paced back and forth. Micah used one hand to hold his bloody nose while trying to keep up with Dutch, he nearly tripped over his own feet several times as he bickered loudly.

"I told you this would happen! The little bastard attacks me, but you're too busy playing Papa Bear to see that!" Micah jabbed his finger in Dutch's direction, but that didn't cause any reaction. "Look at me Dutch, your most loyal friend...your son whose done everything for you...betrayed by that...disgusting, unloyal, snake!"

"Micah that's enough!" Hosea barked, suddenly. "Put yourself to use and do something other than bothering us!"

"Shut your mouth, old man! I'm attacked and all you care about-"

The sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the air, as Micah shrieked.

"What is wrong with you, Dutch? How could you hit your son?"

Arthur watched in shock, as Micah held his slowly swelling cheek and blood continued to drip from his nose. Dutch stared Micah down with his fist clenched tightly with a devilish aura surrounding his very being while Micah's knees buckled in and forced him to take a few cowarding steps back. 

Dutch said nothing, as he pointed up the entrance path and continued staring daggers. Micah only complied with a few nods before he bolted off nearly dropping his precious gun. As Micah made his escape, Hosea put his hand on Dutch's shoulder and began to speak. Arthur couldn't hear what he was saying, but seeing Dutch's head fall, as his hands met his hips; Arthur knew something was wrong.

"Dutch! We found something, come quick!"

Faster than a bullet leaving its barrel, Dutch with Hosea close behind bolted towards the call leaving the camp deserted. Besides the roaring fire pits the camp was silent. Arthur took a deep breath, as he began to slowly regain feeling in his arms and legs. With a grunt and a whine, Arthur pushed himself up from the dirt just enough where he was able to sit normally. He continued to breathe heavily while his heart continued to pound aggressively in his trembling chest. Wiping his dripping nose, Arthur let out a sniffle, as he fought to get to his feet. Pushing through the branches and thin twigs, Arthur popped his head getting a full view of his surroundings. Everyone was gone.

With the legs of a newborn fawn, Arthur struggled to leave the bushes, as he tripped and stumbled over every little thing. His cheeks blushed a terrible red shade the same as a fresh apple, as the sudden realization of his situation came to mind; surely he would be in trouble now. Micah would have his teeth for a necklace for sure, Arthur was ready to say his prays that night, as he waddled into the empty camp with tears streaming down his cheeks.

He was panicking worse than before, grabbing at his hair, Arthur spun in different directions not sure what to do. Many ideas ran in his head, but he wasn't sure which would work.

"Go find Dutch?" He asked himself, as he looked up the path. "Would Dutch be mad...I did something bad."

More tears appeared, as he imagined Dutch raising his hand to his tiny face. Arthur cupped his face in terror, as he let out a sickening cough. 

Suddenly, the sound of leafs being crushed under a heavy object nearly made Arthur faint, as he quickly turned on his heel to face the noise behind him. Nothing. Nothing was there, but Arthur froze was the crunching got louder and faster with every step. 

Covering his mouth with his hands, Arthur did what he thought was best and fled into the closest tent which belong to no other than the charmer himself, Dutch van der linde. With no time to waste, Arthur ignored the lovely decor, Dutch had displayed from his soft carpet to his vast collection of books and records. Holding in his fear, Arthur dropped to his knees and crawled under Dutch's cot which was covered by a thin white sheet that blocked most of Arthur's vision.

The steps tortured Arthur's ears, as they circled the tent snapped twigs and kicking bottles teasing the boy mercilessly. Trying to stay quiet, Arthur bit his tongue to silence everything but his breathing. It got to a point Arthur feared who ever was outside could hear his heartbeat; it must have sounded like a war drum by the way it was beating. As Arthur continued to cry the noise suddenly stopped right behind him where his back rested, causing him to whimper in terror, as he closed his eyes tightly.

Listening to his breathing, Arthur was praying to God that the person making that noise would just go away and leave him only. But, Arthur's heart dropped when the long metallic squeak of a bed spring attacked his ears, as he felt himself being crushed under the cot. 

Upon opening his eyes, Arthur was quickly discouraged when he came face to face with something he wasn't expecting. It wasn't a monster of demon summoned to eat his face; it was a pair of shoes. A black pair of well polished dress shoes, Arthur could just make out his own face it the shining shoes. No one wore those nice of shoes in camp, Arthur was sure of it.

They were strange pair indeed, like nothing he had ever seen before. A little too strange.


	12. Strange Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies, Gentlemen and Cowpokes, I wish to apologize for my absence I've been very busy with life and such, but I'm back bringing a new chapter with me.
> 
> Now please, enjoy and don't be afraid to leave a comment yelling at me for taking so long. I'll be waiting ;)

This night had gone from bad to worst. There has never been such a horrible sound like dead silence, with only the pounding of your racing heart and the sense of imprisonment. Everyone was gone no one was left behind, but Arthur who had no choice, but to hide under Dutch's cot and pray whoever found him to be merciful. If Micah were to find him, he'd never see the light of day again; his life would be over before it even began. He could imagine Micah's hands around his throat just squeezing every last breathe Arthur held in his body till he turned blue. 

Arthur could feel his heart thumping in his throat nearly strangling him of every last breath. Watching his reflection bounce up and down on the stranger's shoes, Arthur could see the fear in his own eyes; the way tears flowed down his cheeks and the puffiness of his eyelids, he was a mess. His heart was beating louder than a thunderstorm in summer and, he was sure whoever was sitting on Dutch's bed could easily hear it. To silence his whimpering, Arthur cupped his trembling lips with his hands and tried to breathe through his snot filled nose that whistled with every gasp of air he took. 

"Arthur Morgan," Arthur nearly bit his tongue when he heard his name being called. Whoever this person was they knew his name and said it was such confidence, you'd believe they were an old friend. "Do you like listening to classical music, Arthur?"

Just like magic, Arthur's ears were filled with music it was the same song Dutch played almost every day. Arthur's hands began to shake, as one of the shoes began to tap the ground in time with the music, "I could never get into this type of music it all sounds the same; it's almost...maddening."

The boy's body began to shake, as the stranger let out a sluggish sigh, "It's the same beat over and over again like the clicking on a railroad track."

Not really listening to the man's words, Arthur found himself scooting back further under Dutch's cot while the man continued to speak. All his words just sounded like silly nonsense, the man went on and on about deer, snakes, and something about the colour pink; non of his blabber made any sense till he barked out Arthur's name making him jump.

"I know you aren't a gentleman, Arthur Morgan, but you must have some class in you. Your mother must have taught you that." The man sounded offended by Arthur's lack of contributions to the conversation. "Why don't you come out and say hello."

"I-I-I," Arthur whispered, as he peeled his snot and spit covered hands away from his mouth. "I d-don't know y-you."

"You don't know Dutch van der linde, but you seem to be friendly with him."

The man wasn't wrong. 

"Are...y-you a bad guy?

"I don't know yet, but there's hardly any good men anymore."

"Do I," Arthur started, as his throat turned dry. "Do I know you, mister?"

"I hope so, I seem to know you, Arthur."

Taking a few deep breathes Arthur used his arms to drag himself out from under the cot with his belly to the ground without looking up at the stranger. The man didn't move he was completely silent, as Arthur crawled out beside his feet. As soon as he could sit up, Arthur threw his head back and took his first look at the man sitting on the bed. 

What a dapper gentleman he was. Dressed in a black three piece suit with a matching neck tie this gentleman's outfit was complete with a top hat that was slightly tilted to one side, as if he were tilting his head. This was a elder gentleman for sure with his face sprinkled with wrinkles and bags under his weary eyes, he looked older than Hosea. Staring at Arthur in silence the man twisted his curly mustache and looked the boy over.

"My, my, you have grown," the man said, as he let his hands fall gracefully to his lap. "Oh, what a man you will be. I hope my boy grows up just like you. Curious yet...cautious."

Arthur raised a brow while he continued to stare at the odd man before him, "Who are you mister?"

The man's eyes shot up for but a moment before they fell back to Arthur, as he let a sigh, " I'm an accountant....in a way."

"What?"

The man's eyes narrowed, "Manners, Arthur Morgan. When we don't understand something or someone we say pardon."

With his cheeks turning a gentle pink, Arthur looked away from the man and wiped his dripping nose quickly with his sleeve, "P-pardon?"

"Do you have any siblings Arthur?"

Put off by the question, Arthur scratched the back of his head with a questionable look on his face, "No...mister, I don't."

In return, the man tilted his head and raised a brow in a confused fashion, "Are you sure?"

Arthur scooted back a bit, he was sure he was an only child. He never had friends it was just his mother, father and himself; he would have remembered playing with a sibling. Arthur had always been alone or with his mother he had never shared a room with a brother or sister or eaten at the dinner table with one. What was this man on about?

Suddenly, the man looked over at Dutch's phonograph and brought himself to his feet. Taking his time the man reached the music player and gentle caressed the horn with the tip of his fingers. He felt along the sharp edges of the golden horn all the way down till he reached crank and brought the music to a screaching halt.

Disturbed by the teeth retching noise, Arthur covered his ears and let out a yelp before the tent went quiet. 

"You know one man's trash is another man's treasure," The man said still eyeing the phonograph. "Some things are worth more then you think. Remember that Arthur not everything is silver and gold."

"What do you mean, mister?"

Turning on his heel the man was down on one knee looking deeply into Arthur's eye before the boy could even blink causing him to gasp and force himself back. The man didn't smile, but he let out a humorous huff, as he gestured to his ears.

"Keep your ears open in Saint Denis, Arthur Morgan."

Once again, this man's riddles flew over Arthur's head, as he picked the wax out of his ears and tried to understand what the man was throwing at him. With his heart rate back to normal, Arthur began to think more clearly and wondered when everyone would come back. They sounded very afraid and so did Dutch. A cold chill fell down Arthur's spine as a gust of summer's night wind creeped into the tent unannounced causing Arthur's entire body to shiver uncontrollably.

"You'll be warm before the night is through, Arthur there's no need to shiver. You'll feel like a piece of burning coal before morning comes."

"What are you blabbering about Mister?" Arthur hissed slightly crossed by the man's mindless chatter. "You're not making any sense, are you okay, mister?"

The corner of the man's lip twitched upward, as the man brought himself to his feet and made his way to the exit, "You're an interesting young man, Arthur Morgan. Very interesting indeed." Peering over his shoulder, the man gave Arthur a nod before he opened the tent flap and held it open. "Oh, and before I forget, Arthur. Use cool water to tend to a burn wound it will reduce the pain and any swelling."

Before Arthur could spit out a response to that odd advice the man was gone like a pebble in the creek; it was like the man wasn't there he was just...gone. Sitting there confused as ever, Arthur found the strength to bring himself to his feet and stumble towards the exit. Arthur wasn't sure how long he was under the cot, but it had seemed his legs had decided to take a short nap without Arthur knowing. Like walking on pins and needles, Arthur wasn't going anywhere fast, but once he reached one of the support beams, he held onto it for dear life like a fly clings to horse shit. 

"W-wait!" Arthur called. "Who are you!"

Stumbling out of the tent, Arthur found himself chasing after nothing. The man was nowhere to be seen all that was left behind was a bit of kicked up dust floating up into the night. He had simply vanished, Arthur stood there baffled and confused, as he scratched the top of his head.

"H-hello?" Arthur called, as he hesitantly walked around Dutch's tent peeking around every corner. "Mister? Where did you-" Words had escaped Arthur, as it became clear he had encountered a ghost or a demon maybe.

Arthur was never one to believe in the supernatural, but he knew the man was real. Closing his eyes and giving them a quick rub, Arthur opened his eyes as wide as he could and looked around; nothing.

With an uneasy feeling in his stomach, Arthur wrapped his hands around his shoulders and carefully tiptoed to the closest campfire to warm his cold toes. The silence that surrounded him frightened him more than the gentleman. As the fire crackled and popped, Arthur's body trembled as his gaze led up to the entrance path, and pondered his next move.

Biting his lower lip, Arthur made the decision to walk up the path. Taking small and cautious steps, as he found himself passing the horses including The Count who glared at the boy. Not wanting to anger the brute, Arthur kept his gaze to the ground, as he sneaked passed. The Count dug at the ground with his front hoof and let out a grunt. Arthur attempted to quicken his pace, but the sound of fast approaching hooves from behind made him stop dead in his tracks. Not even ten feet away from camp and Arthur was stopped by the massive body of The Count. Nearly stepping on Arthur's feet, The Count had turned to his side using his body as a barrier, as Arthur put his hands up in defense.

"Excuse me," Arthur gulped, as he shuffled to the side. "Mr. Count I...I..."

Before Arthur could pass, The Count took a few steps back to block the boy again which made Arthur jump. Arthur wasn't sure what the horse's problem was, The Count had never bothered with him before.

"I just want to pass," Arthur confessed, as he pointed down the path, as The Count looked down at him. "D-Dutch...went that way, right?"

As if The Count could understand the young boy's stuttering, he lowered his head toward Arthur and bit down on his shirt dragging the boy forward. Arthur gasped thinking the mighty stead was taking a bite out of his small chest, but once he realized he was being dragged along the path he tried his best not to laugh in terror.

The two walked side by side one more comfortable than the other, The Count's pace was very slow to keep the same speed as Arthur who kept his hands up fearing of touch the horse's mane. Moving farther from camp the bright light of the camp fires disappeared making the path darker and darker. Feeling the hot breath of The Count pelt his chest, Arthur suddenly cleared his throat.

"I...I can walk...you know, so could you...let go?"

Giving Arthur's shirt a hard tug, the boy nearly tumbled, "Okay, okay...sorry."

Arthur knew Miss Grimshaw was going to have a fit not only was he covered in dirt, but he now had horse spit dripping down his clothes. Watching the drool slide down his shirt, Arthur stuck out his tongue in disgust, as he felt the wetness on his stomach.

"Horses are gross," Arthur mumbled, as he felt himself getting ill.

Suddenly, The Count opened his mouth and released Arthur from his grasp and brought his head up. Relieved, yet disgusted, Arthur used his sleeve to brush off the spit, as he stayed by The Count's side.

"T-thank you," Arthur said, as he unknowingly patted The Count's side. 

Upon being touched, The Count suddenly kicked up some dirt and darted away from Arthur's side, as his ears flattened backwards. Realizing his actions, Arthur started a light jog to catch up with the upset creature.

"I-I'm sorry, come back," Arthur said. "Wait!"

The Count wasn't stopping, but he did look back every few step almost like he was teasing Arthur to follow him further. Wanting to keep up, Arthur was forced to run, as The Count began to call out into the night like a Banshee. The moon had givin' Arthur just enough light to see in front of him, but if he lost The Count now, he'd wouldn't see camp till morning. 

Arthur chased The Count for what felt like hours his chest was starting to burn and his throat was going dry, but every time he started to slow down, The Count let out a loud whinny and kicked at the dirt. The boy was panting like a dog in summer and believed his heart was going to explode out of his chest if he went any further. Taking a quick look around, Arthur wasn't sure where they were anymore they had made it to a clearing with long grass and high hills stretching for miles. 

Upon reaching a crossroad with a sign pointing in multiple directions, The Count brought himself to a stop and turned to Arthur letting out a snort, as the boy finally caught up and fell to his knees; panting.

"Don't..." Arthur started, as he looked up at The Count. "Don't make me...run no more....okay?"

Without warning, The Count let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing scream that could have carried for miles. Arthur cried out in surprise, as he covered his ears. The Count held his note for a solid ten seconds before he stopped for a moment only to repeat himself several times.

Arthur wasn't sure what the crazed horse was doing, but he brought himself to stand.

"What's wrong boy?" Arthur shouted, as he kept his hands over his ears and searched for the problem. "Stop!"

And just like that, The Count stopped, and let out a snort, as he gave himself a quick shake. Arthur raised his brow and slowly removed his hands from his ears.

"Are you okay, boy?" He asked, as The Count's ears twitched. "What spooked you?"

Suddenly, in the distance the sound of multiple horses calling silenced Arthur, as he turned to his head to the hills. Arthur looked over at The Count whose tail began swaying side to side in possible excitement, as his ears were pointing in both directions. As the sound of galloping horses got louder and louder like a wave of fireflies a faint orange glow began to appear. A smile appeared on Arthur's face at the thought of being found the fear of possible punishment was far from his mind he just wanted to see everyone again.

Voices calling out filled Arthur's ears, as he jumped for joy at the sight of horses and their riders finally entered his sight. Miss Grimshaw was the first he saw, but she didn't look as happy, as he did.

"Miss Grimshaw!" He cried out, as he raised his arms up. "I'm here, Miss Grimshaw!"

With her lantern glowing bright, Arthur watched as he eyes widen in surprise, as her lips made an O shape. Followed by four other riders, Miss Grimshaw was the first to fly down the hill and the loudest. She was cursing up a storm much louder than The Count, but Arthur didn't care.

Jumping down from her horse, Miss Grimshaw kicked up dirt, as she stormed over to Arthur screaming out her lungs. She looked like a dog with rabies because she spat and her hair was a mess, but Arthur kept his smile. 

"You are in a lot of trouble, young man!" She screamed. "Do you have any idea how much you scared us?"

"M-Miss Grimshaw," Arthur giggled, as he tried to stay serious. "I...I wasn't-"

"No, you listen to me, boy, you have all of us worked up when we should all be in bed and-" As if something caught her eye behind Arthur, She stopped her self and crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out her hip.

A twig snapping behind him made Arthur's smile disappear, but before he could even look over his shoulder someone had him by the ear. Letting out a pain filled yelp, Arthur was forced to follow the pull. With his head turned to the side, Arthur couldn't tell who was dragged him, but the cold feeling of metal against his ear gave him an idea.

With the strength of an angry bear, Dutch van der linde had his youngest son by the ear and was dragging his ass the way to camp without saying a word. He had a sour scowl on his face, as his boots beat the ground viciously. Arthur tried to speak, but anytime a sound escaped his lips, Dutch tugged at his tender ear.

"Everyone back to camp!" Hosea called out, as he appeared out of the darkness on his horse. "We got Arthur! Everyone head back!"

Arthur looked up at Hosea who simply shook his head with a look of disappointment in his eyes.

"Don't look at me, kiddo," Hosea sighed. "I can't help ya, now."

Arthur was sure Dutch was gonna tear his ear off by the way he was pulling, he could barely keep up with Dutch's pace. As members passed them on horseback, Arthur felt like everyone was staring at him which made his cheeks burn bright, his breathing quickened in a alarming rate, as the glow of the campfires appeared in Arthur's sight.

Hell have no fury like an angry Father.


	13. Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Guys....Dutch is not in a good mood.

As would a hungry hound tear the flesh off its bone, Dutch yanked on Arthur's ear leaving it burning and irritated. Arthur wiggled and writhed at the older man's grasp, but to no avail leaving him useless. There was an odd feeling in the air that night it was hot and cold at the exact time; the heat rising, as a cold breeze flew in that picked up the fallen leaves and threw up dust.

The gang had fallen into deep silence; not a single word was spoken. When normally a song would be in full swing, the instruments were put away and when someone would call for a toast bottles of beer and whiskey were corked and stored away for another day. Arthur was sure he was dead, he couldn't feel his heart beating anymore he felt numb from his head to his toes. In a attempt to ease his pain, Arthur clutched Dutch's strong hand with both of his to possibly pry the mighty fingers off his ear lobe. With pleading eyes, Arthur looked around for help, but everyone was quick to escape to their tents for the night blowing out their lanterns and closing the flaps behind them.

The boy's eyes trembled, as people turned their heads and denied eye contact, Arthur's mouth was left open, as small whimpers fell from his lips. Like rats escaping a fire, everyone ran for their tents and left without a word; all but Micah who stood there next to Dutch's tent with his arms crossed across his puffed out chest while his nose that now resembled a bumpy eggplant. Micah's lips curled into a sinister grin as his piss stained teeth peered through leaving a sour taste in Arthur's mouth. Micah's chuckled to himself, as he cruelly waved goodbye to Arthur with just his fingers before slowly slithering away into the night.

Arthur felt his stomach flip, as he was jolted forward, carelessly. Dutch tossed the boy into his tent not caring, as Arthur tumbled toward like a newborn deer nearly tripping over his own little feet.

Cupping his sore ear, Arthur looked up at Dutch whose face looked as angry, as a rich man whose pants had been stolen. The one corner of Dutch's lip twitched exposing a couple of teeth which grinded against one another. The vein in his forehead was pounding harder than Arthur's heart, his black brows were almost stuck together in a downward position making his forehead a goldmine of wrinkles and stress lines. Yet, when Arthur's eyes met Dutch's, the boy's knees almost collapsed beneath him. The once soft, brown eyes of Dutch van der linde that reminded Arthur of the sweetest chocolate jabbed at his heart like a steel dagger with no sign of love or forgiveness.

Dutch's hands formed into fists making them crack, as he moved in closer to Arthur; his nostrils flared. Frightened by the fast movement, Arthur threw his hands up in a defensive pose covering his face with his hands, as Dutch's feet grew quiet. Arthur shut his eyes tightly and he swore he stopped breathing for a moment, as the tent instantly went quiet.

A grunt came from Dutch, as he hissed.

"Sit down."

Like a fork scraping on teeth, Dutch's stern voice frightened Arthur to the core, as he stood there frozen. His arms stayed perfectly in place he couldn't move on his own. 

Suddenly, Dutch's arm moved as quickly, as a viper zipping past Arthur's head sending a few strains of hair to flap in the wind, as he gestured to the cot.

"Sit. Down," Dutch repeated with a growl. "Don't make me ask you a third time, son." 

Peeking through a crack in his arms, Arthur followed Dutch's gesture and planted himself down on the cot with his feet dangling off the ground. Dutch's chest puffed in and out rapidly, as if he couldn't breathe, but he jabbed his ringed finger in the direction of Arthur's nose.

"Now...you stay right there. Don't you dare move," Dutch warned, as his hand began to shake. "You hear me?"

Arthur only nodded, as tears welled up in his already tired eyes. With a clenched fist, Dutch tore himself away from the frightened boy and yanked a cigar from his pocket before darting out of the back of the tent. Just standing right outside the tent, Dutch stood there with his back to Arthur, fumbling to retrieve a match from his pocket.

Feeling nauseous, Arthur couldn't stop a handful of tears from spilling out and cleaning his dust covered cheeks. Peering over at Dutch through the tent flap that moved with the breeze, the man just stood there with his lit cigar puffing out clouds of smoke into the air. He didn't speak and the only time he moved was to tick off the burnt pieces of ash from his slowly dying cigar. Arthur's nose dripped, as his body trembled in terror he could barely hold his own hand.

Arthur wasn't sure what Dutch was going to do, but Lord knows it wasn't going to be good.

* * *

The ashes fell from Hosea's cigarette, as he took a lung full of burning tobacco and let the smoke fall from his nose. Hosea was never fond of the cheap brand cigarettes, but he needed something to calm his old heart. Seeing Dutch drag that poor boy around like a toy left a bad taste in his mouth and the look of utter terror on Arthur's face would surely haunt him. The boy had no colour to him, he was as white as a sheet hanging out to dry and he was shaking like one too. Hosea was mad and he had the right to be, but he knew how to control his temper, he knows how to take a step back and collect himself. Dutch on the other hand....it was complicated.

With a heavy sigh, Hosea let the cigarette fall from his fingers to the cold ground where he crushed it under his boot. The last puff of smoke left his lips, as he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and eyed Dutch's tent. Spotting the frequent smoke clouds from the back, Hosea poked his head behind the tent and felt his heart sink when he saw the terrible twitch Dutch's upper lip had. Dutch's hair was in a bit of a tangle, his hat was nowhere to be seen leaving his usual slicked back hair in a terrible mess. Eventhough he was silently smoking his cigar his eyes were telling stories of fury and held horrible intentions; the bags under his eyes were dark and sagged lower than an old hookers...personality. 

"Dutch," Hosea's voice was as light as a feather, he could barely hear himself speak. "He's just a boy; go easy on him."

Dutch's eyes never broke away from their trance, "We're suppose to stay together."

His voice rumbled with thunderous force, like a landslide. Barring his teeth, Dutch bit down on his cigar nearly piercing the flesh, as he continued to grumble.

"No one's leavin' Dutch," Hosea assured, as he moved closer to his friend. "We're still here...and we ain't going no where."

"Who knows what could have happened?" Dutch mumbled, as he reached for his cigar with trembling fingers. "Anything could have happened to him...wolves, gun men." His voice began to shake, as he tapped the black ash off his cigar, "A damn coyote could have taken that boy down."

Reaching out, Hosea placed his hand on Dutch's shoulder and felt the man's tense, like a brick wall. The two stood in silence while Hosea gathered his thoughts; the situation was already heated and Hosea knew one wrong word could send the whole thing overboard. The two stood there quietly; both eyeing the ground almost waiting for the other to speak, but only found silence.

"Is everyone alright?"

Dutch's sudden question threw Hosea for a loop, he simply wasn't prepared, but with his hand on Dutch's shoulder he huffed.

"Their a little shaken up, but most folks are doing just fine. Their gettin' some well deserved rest."

With his index finger, Dutch flicked the butt of his cigar and sent it tumbling away where it's ambers perished in the wet grass. Letting the last bit of smoke leave his lips, Dutch looked up at the moon that shined down on them brightly, "Would you kindly check on Miss Grimshaw" His voice was low, but calming like a river. "She was pretty upset...do you mind checking up on her while I talk with the boy?"

Giving Dutch's shoulder a shake, Hosea smiled, "Of course." The two nodded at one another, as Hosea began to back away into the night, "Remember Dutch, we're okay."

"We're okay," Dutch mumbled, as he rubbed his chin. "We're okay."

Dutch took a moment of silence while he contemplated his thought his head was spinning like a gramophone, but no music was playing. They barely had the boy for a day, yet Dutch felt like he raised that boy from the womb. Arthur's pleading eyes floated around his head getting bigger every time they blinked and the sadness they held reminded Dutch of his mother. The boy's eyes showed more fear than love; to witness such terror and hatred at such a young age, Dutch was convinced the boy was ruined for life.

"He's stuck with us now," He thought to himself, as his gaze met the moon again. "He can't return to civilization, not after that."

Dutch nearly lost himself in thought till the gentle squeak of a cot spring caught his attention and his rage refueled itself. Letting out a grunt, Dutch rolled his neck till it let out a crack before re-entering his tent again. Throwing back the curtains, Dutch could have sworn the boy nearly jumped out of his pants, as he stood there glaring at the child.

Dutch quickly found himself pacing the tent looking the floor while Arthur watched him fearfully with his hands to his mouth. Not a word was spoken, as Dutch paced around; you could hear a pin drop for how quiet it got. As Arthur continued to watch Dutch drag his boots along the floor, he couldn't control his breathing; his hands were dripping as his hot breath hit his palms, he believed his legs would soon fall off due to the amount of fearful shaking. He feared for his life.

Suddenly, Dutch took a seat next to Arthur nearly sending him falling off the edge, but he remained seated with his head hanging low. Slouching and rested his hands on his lap, Dutch exhaled loudly through his nose.

"You know," Dutch began. "You gave us a pretty big scare there, son. Had us running around like chickens without their heads."

Arthur stayed quiet.

"One second you were in bed the next you were no where to be found. Care to tell me what happened?"

Without looking at Dutch, tears slipped out of Arthur as he shook his head no; which made Dutch tilt his head.

"Are you sure?"

Arthur wouldn't speak, he sat there completely silent just holding his hands together, as tears rolled down his cheeks. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dutch closed his eyes in a attempt to keep his composure.

"I'm not mad, Arthur. I just want to know what happened."

Holding his tongue, Arthur shook his head again, as he rubbed his ear with his palm, "N-no...no."

"Excuse me?" Dutch asked, as he leaned forward trying to make eye contact. "What did you say?"

Arthur's face began to scrunch inward, as he continued to pinch at his ringing ear. Dutch's voice was nothing but mumbles to him, as if he were underwater; nothing made sense. Arthur kept his eyes shut waiting for the ringing to stop, but it screamed in his ear like a frighten horse.

"Shut up!" Arthur suddenly screamed, causing Dutch to jolt back in surprise.

Dutch was baffled that such a small thing could make such a outburst, but the amount of disrespect he felt conquered his surprise. His fists began to tremble with anger, as Arthur hopped down from the cot.

Without a second thought, Dutch shot up from his seat, grabbed Arthur by the arm with the force of a crocodile and found himself tossing the boy over his knee.


End file.
